After Eden By Katherine Pine Contact: [emailprotected], http://katherinepine.com Content Copywrite © Katherine Pine 2011, all rights reserved. April 2011, first ebook edition This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Please see the “Author's Note” for a more detailed description.
Prologue The two of us used to reenact The Snow Queen in the woods behind our house. We’d begin by lying on the lawn, and his cool fingers would squeeze my hand until my eyelids grew heavy and my breathing slowed. Then he would let go. “Where are you going?” I’d call out as I grabbed his ankles, causing him to stumble when he tried to stand. “Stop,” he’d tell me. “I don’t love you anymore. I love my queen.” He didn’t want to say such things, he didn’t even like the game, but I loved it and so he indulged me. After that he would run into the woods. I would count to ten, and then go find him. Once I found him in a pile of autumn leaves. He’d hidden in the tall branches of the old oak, and then fallen and skinned his knee. He didn’t cry, he never cried, but I did. Sniffling, I rolled up his pant leg and picked up a yellow oak leaf from the forest
floor. It wasn’t medicine, we both knew that, but still my brother let me rub it on his skin. “You found me,” he said. “I will always find you,” I promised, and my little heart meant every word. It loved him more than it could stand, and so it could not conceive of a world where those words wouldn’t be true. “I love you, Devi,” he said. I wanted him to call me Greta. Greta was the girl from The Snow Queen. She was the brother of Kai, the boy in the fairy tale who shared my own brother’s name. Things would have turned out differently if my name really was Greta. She was the bringer of spring. She could suffer the winter and melt the ice around her brother’s heart. She would find Kai regardless of where he’d gone or who’d taken him. But I’d been named Devi, and so after he was stolen I couldn’t find him, no matter how hard I tried.
Chapter 1 No other girl under the age of 18 would be caught dead outside Morrison’s after 5pm, especially when the sky looked like a backdrop for the opening scene of a hardboiled mystery. The used bookstore’s turquoise and mustard yellow exterior had always reminded me of my grandmother’s psychedelic kitchen, and so conjured memories of unconditional love, burnt cookies and salmonella poisoning. Maybe that’s why I chose to spend Friday nights shuffling through the sale books on the outdoor rack instead of getting ready to hit the clubs or crash a party on the East side. Unfortunately all they had out were the usual suspects—science fiction novels featuring giant reptiles shooting lightning from their bloodshot eyes, techno-thrillers, and old school romances a la Lilac Lovelace’s magnum opus Sweet Savage Sentiments. I skimmed a few chapters before closing it with savage disappointment.
You won’t find him here. My fingers trembled, suddenly aware of the cold air, and the trashy book almost fell from them. That voice was so lonely and quiet—the voice of a child. I stumbled back. Don’t do this, I commanded, but I’d already shut my eyes, gone completely still, and made my breath as quiet as possible. I listened for that voice to return. Only the sound of tires, the dull, throbbing beat from the strip club across the street, and my own internal silence responded. He wasn’t there. It was just my mind playing tricks. I shut my eyes and stood. Don’t look, I told myself as my heartbeat raced. I just needed to keep my face forward, to bury myself in the pages of a book, any book. I couldn’t— I glanced over my shoulder. Above the line of skyscrapers I could just barely make out the gray silhouette of the West hills. My house was hidden up there, behind the cedars, firs, and gnarled limbs of deciduous trees. Part of me longed to go home, drop
my backpack by the front door, and curl up under the quilt on my bed to wait for sleep. But I couldn’t go home. Not yet. Night wouldn’t come for another few hours. I looked away from the forested heights and returned my attention to the neon-lit heart of the city. The days were getting shorter, I reminded myself. Soon I’d be able to wander past that spot on the bluff where he’d disappeared without seeing every detail of the oak, the crumbling wooden gate, and the wide expanse of gray buildings far below. I’d still know those things existed in the dark, of course, but at least the images wouldn’t seduce my mind into playing that memory over and over—the one of my twin brother being taken by the man in white. I wiped my sleeve across my eyes. Thinking about it shouldn’t have affected me this much after so many years, or at least that’s what everyone kept telling me. A gust of freezing wind blew at my back. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared into Marilyn Monroe’s carefree smile.
Ever since I was a kid the front window had featured that famous poster of her standing above the vent, pushing that little white dress over her legs. She looked warm and dry—I was kind of jealous. The wind roared again. Marilyn’s face didn’t change but her dress seemed to twirl, perhaps due shadow of the twirling poppet nailed from a string on the overhang.
Wait, what? I blinked. Alright, I hadn’t just imagined it. A black doll no bigger than my hand danced in the breeze. Three pins stuck out of its chest, and pasted on its back were two feathers—one red, one white. I suppressed a chill. That had to be new. Either that or someone was playing a joke on the pudgy, aging clerk; I doubted someone who wore freshly ironed polo shirts with little animals embroidered below the collar was into that sort of thing. Then again, whoever owned the place seemed to collect oddities. There was a dream catcher above the register, and the door to the storage room had been replaced by long strands of
glow in the dark beads. I rested my hand on the doorknob, debating whether or not to go inside. They probably wanted to close early. The only customers they’d get on a day like this were lunatics—well, lunatics and hopeless romantics with a fetish for the smell of dusty old books, which in their eyes probably amounted to the same thing. My grip on the doorknob tightened. They hadn’t officially closed yet. A light still glowed from the back of the store and no one had flipped around that illegible, handwritten sign in the window I’d always assumed said “We’re Open.” I glanced down at the florid pink book I still held and decided to check their romance section before I left. They had to have something better than Sweet Savage Sentiments. Right as the thought entered my mind something hot built up in my throat, increasing in pressure until I could scarcely breathe.
Panic seized my chest. I tried to grip the doorknob but I couldn’t feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips anymore. Not now, I pleaded. It was always my first thought when the headaches started. My head pulsated as if my blood was trying to pump out of my skin. God, why did this have to happen—and so randomly, too? I was going to collapse. I had to get out of there before I passed out on the street. Already the gray, fall sky was blurring into the sidewalk. My palms hit my temple, slick with perspiration. Maybe the clerk inside…
Too late . I fell into the door and the bell above it jingled, signaling a visitor. No, singling me, gasping for breath and flopping around on the pavement like a fish. If it didn’t hurt so bad I would’ve laughed. Two boots appeared in front of my face, so close I could feel the leather on the tip of my nose. A hand gripped my shoulder and a voice said something, maybe. Then everything faded. ***
Someone was trying to pound my chest into submission. Okay, okay , I conceded. But whatever was above me couldn’t read my mind. Instead of stopping it dragged something sharp across my collarbone.
Damn that stings. I placed my hand over the scratch and opened my eyes. My long, black hair was plastered to my face. In between the strands I saw two slanted, yellow eyes staring back. I sucked in a breath as the mass of fur meowed and catapulted forward, pushing its wet nose into my chin. “You’re finally up. Are you feeling better?” A man’s voice. It sounded contemplative and primal, as if someone were whispering a lament over a dying fire. Or perhaps it only seemed so enigmatic because I was half awake. “I hope you’re not allergic to cats,” he continued.
Clack. Something was placed beside me. I rolled my head to the side. My temples still pounded lightly and my vision was still
blurry. The fact that I was being attacked by kitty kisses probably didn’t help. “Not allergic.” I sniffed the mug on the table and grimaced. “Hate coffee,” I muttered. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand reach down to grip the mug and cringed, this time from pure shame. I wanted to explain that I wasn’t normally that selfish, but my tongue refused to move. Luckily he just chuckled. “Be right back.” His footsteps grew distant and then inaudible, leaving me alone with the sound of the cat’s rhythmic purring. I rubbed its sleek coat as my vision cleared. Dim light spilled over the walls from over a dozen candles. The way they were spaced around the room in a circle reminded me of a seance, but that’s where the similarities between this storage space and a midnight ritual ended. Instead of being sprawled across an altar dressed in something sheer and white, I was underneath a woolen blanket on a faded pink couch that smelled of coffee and dust.
Bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and even more books were stacked in tall, uneven piles throughout the room. Plus the cat that lapped at my fingers was orange and gray, not black. The footsteps returned from behind. “Here’s some water.” A hand set down another mug and gave the cat an affectionate pat on the head. “Looks like I’m condemned to be eternally bossed around by temperamental women.” Before I could respond or turn to face him the owner of the voice walked to the leather armchair in front of me and sat. I stopped breathing. The man—no, not a man, for he couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me—was beautiful in that indie musician or starving poet kind of way. He wasn’t very tall, but long, lean muscles filled out every inch of his frame. His hair wasn’t long enough to hide the silver stud in his left ear, but it still covered most of his angular face. On his left forearm was a tattoo of a goat inside a triangular design,
and on his right a tattoo of a Chinese-style dragon that seemed to dance over his skin when he moved. His eyes watched me, unblinking. They were dark and green, like the forest in late spring after a rain. They somehow seemed as vast and deep as the woods as well; I felt as if I could step into them and disappear. “Where am I?” I asked too softly, as if I didn’t want him to hear. “In the back of Morrison’s.” He turned the book he’d been holding over. “You seem to have fainted while reading this,” he said and raised it up.
No, this couldn’t be happening. My cheeks turned as pink as the cover when he cracked open Sweet Savage Sentiments and began flipping through the pages. He grinned when I gave no verbal response. “Was it really that good?” A lump formed in my throat. This incredibly cute guy could not be reading that book in front of me. I would have dared him to read that book if it had been something by
Laura Kinsale or Julia Quinn. But Sweet Savage Sentiments? With all that throbbing and trembling, and the countless engorged members… Oh God, I had to get it back. I sat up. The cat slid down my chest and into my lap, but continued to knead as if it hadn’t been interrupted. “Before you read any more I just want you to know that I didn’t really like it.” I said, and almost winced at how defensive my tone sounded. “I mean, I do like romance novels, but that particular one didn’t do it for me.” He put down the book and rested his chin in his left hand. “Which ones do it for you, then?” My chest began to heave. The cat thought that was great fun and began kneading my legs with more vigor, but the rapid clawing didn’t even faze me. How was I supposed to answer a question like that? And how could I have set such an obvious trap for myself? “You’re enjoying this way too much,” I replied, trying to change the subject.
He brushed his thumb over the book’s hot pink spine. I shivered. “Am I the only one…” he lowered his voice and leaned forward “…enjoying it?” I couldn’t take it anymore. I gripped my hands into compact, deadly fists, grit my teeth, looked him in the eyes… And laughed right in his face. He leaned back with a bemused expression. “I didn’t expect that response.” I choked on the air. “What did you expect, exactly?” I wheezed. It took a moment for him to answer. “I don’t know. Something saucier, I suppose.” I shook my head and stretched out my hand. “Something tells me you’ve had enough “sauce’ in your life. Now please give me back my book.” He raised a brow. “But it’s not your book.” “Well, I was going to buy it,” I replied smugly. It seemed like a harmless lie at the moment.
It wasn’t. “So you weren’t going to put it back, t he n? Sweet Savage Sentiments does actually do it for you?” I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to let him fluster me that easily…again. “For 35 cents it most certainly does. Especially if it prevents a misunderstanding.” “I just raised the price.” He grinned and held the book above his head as if I would try to jump for it. To my mortification I realized for a second that I had considered doing just that. I actually huffed. “Do not make me result to underhanded measures.” It was the wrong thing to say. He gave me a devastating smile. “Oh, I definitely wouldn’t mind.” My breath caught in my chest. Misunderstood artsy types weren’t supposed to smile like that. They were supposed to glance at others condescendingly and ooze sarcastic
witticisms. I felt like this guy was going to wiggle his eyebrows and ask me to “wrassle.” If he had I might’ve even taken him up on it. I looked down, suddenly uncomfortable with being in such a small space with a man I didn’t know. Even if he did work at Morrison’s. Even if he did have a soothing voice and just one look at him made me go weak in the knees. Actually, especially because of all those things.
Hiss. My torso tensed. I glanced left just in time to see a fly soar into the candle on the stool next to me. The inside of its abdomen glowed like embers, then burst, feeding the flames as if it were an oil-soaked wick. Heat spread across my cheeks from either the fire, or my blood, I wasn’t sure. My throat went dry as that small, fragile body disintegrated.
Then the flame returned to its normal, subdued dance, as if nothing had happened. My arms tightened around the cat. A sickening image seeped into my mind—one of it leaping from me and burning to ash before I could react. In return the kitty purred and licked my fingertips, but that gesture gave me little comfort. I couldn’t forget that almost soundless, pointless death. Hypnotically I stared into the flames and wondered why they still seemed so beautiful. “You haven’t had any water,” the man said slowly, breaking the spell. I nodded and reached for the glass. My trembling fingers almost knocked it over, but on my third try I got a good grip and took a sip. It tasted a bit metallic, but familiar. I shut my eyes. “Did that bother you?” I knew exactly what he was talking about—the fly. I nodded and tucked my chin into my chest, wondering why he’d asked. Obviously I’d been upset. In fact, I still was. “Why?”
I set down the cup. Why did my throat still feel so dry even after that sip of water? Why did he ask that question when I was obviously upset by it? “I’ve never understood it,” he began. “When people do it we glorify them, and yet when an animal does it, or a creature even more insignificant, like a fly, we either laugh at their stupidity or feel pity because we believe their sacrifice to be pointless.” “Do what?” I asked with a hoarse voice. “A man killing himself in the pursuit of his dreams is no different than a moth flying into a flame. Like Kurt Cobain, Elliott Smith, or…” he picked up a complete volume of Keats’ letters beside his seat, “insert-yourfavorite-Romantic-poet-here.” “Keats is one of my favorites,” I said absently. “Mine too.” He looked down. His voice sounded distant then, as if a millennium of sorrow were contained in those two words— just as a Romantic poet can transcribe years of tragedy in a single phrase or stanza. Then
he continued: “It’s inconsistent, don’t you think? We should either reduce humanity to the level of the insect when it comes to heroic or romantic yearnings, or ennoble the fly.” He glanced up from the candle, back at me. I couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were guarded, or at least they seemed so behind his dark hair. They captured the image of the fire like a mirror—a reflection of a gold and red dancing on the surface of a green pool. His finger slid over his bottom lip. I couldn’t tear my gaze from the fluid movement. There was something conspiratorial about it, as if he were about to impart a secret of great importance. “Do you want to get something to eat?” He asked. My heartbeat hammered in my neck. My limbs froze. The kitty noticed the change in my demeanor immediately. She stood and started rubbing her head against my stomach with a vengeance. “What?” I croaked, suddenly tongue-tied as the cat’s
tail tickled my chin. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you stumble home after my merchandise caused you to collapse on my doorstep. I need to make sure you’re safe.” Oh, that was it. He thought I might sue him or the place—he wasn’t asking me out or anything. I leaned back. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not actually your doorstep?” “Yes it is. I own the place.” I raised one of my brows. This pierced, tattooed guy with ripped jeans and a tight black t-shirt was the owner of a store where the average customer’s age was at least 55? “How old are you?” “Not too old, in this incarnation anyway.” He smiled again. “I recently inherited it.” “Lucky you,” I said, and resumed petting the impatient cat. “I love this place, and am glad it went to someone who wants to keep it open instead of selling it to a developer.” “You really think I should keep it open? I’ve heard most people don’t read anymore,
and those that do prefer ebooks. I could probably sell it for a good price and settle down—” “You can’t seriously be thinking of selling!” I felt my cheeks get hot. I took a deep breath, swallowed “I mean, Morrison’s has been here forever, and…” “And?” He repeated when I didn’t finish. I sighed. “And I just realized you were teasing me.” “So why don’t you tell me more about how happy you are that this ancient, crumbling building is still in place? We can head over to Dixie’s next door.” He stood and parted the long strings of glow-in-thedark beads that hung over the door with a dramatic flick of the wrist. “I’ll pay.” “That offer is tempting, but I have homework.” The words were out before I could stop them. I almost hit myself in the head. No, that wasn’t what I’d meant to say. I mean, I did have homework, but I could do it later. Or just forget about it. I bit my lip. Maybe I hesitated because
stuff like this never happened to girls like me who wore secondhand clothes every day. “What subject? I’ll help you.” I looked at my lap to hide my smile. I couldn’t believe he’d actually offered to help me with homework. I told myself he probably didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t stop that giddy, warm feeling in my stomach. “History,” I told him. “Good, I know a lot about history.” I shook my head. “Alright.” He grinned. “You’re easy, I like that.” I didn’t really have a response. I guess I was easy. Then he was on his knees in front of me. “Come here Princess,” he cooed. My pulse spiked. I wondered if I should I slap him or “come here.” Then I realized he was talking to the cat. He cradled her in his arms as she squirmed and hissed, then set her down on a lavish purple pillow accented with golden
tassels. “See what I said about temperamental women? You aren’t going to give me that much trouble, are you?” ”I don’t intend to,” I replied. “Yeah,” he said wearily and looked away as we made our way through the maze-like rows of bookshelves to the front of the store. “I just realized I don’t know your name,” I said. “It’s Oz,” he responded without turning around. I couldn’t help but smile. “As in The
Wizard of…?” This time he did turn and nod with a smile. “No need to make that face with me. My name is Devi,” I explained. “I don’t really look it, but my grandmother was from India.” “It’s a beautiful name,” he said, and leaned against the door. The last light of day peeked through the
space between his body and the door frame. Lovely, I thought. It was my last coherent thought. Pain. It pierced my skull, pumped through my veins, burned like acid as if it were liquidating my body. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. I barely even felt the sting as my knees hit the tile floor. “Stop. Stop,” I screamed, and to wiggle through the doorway. Tried to get away. My arms twisted and convulsed like they had popped out of the ground in front of a tombstone in a B-horror movie. “Hey.” The voice sounded distant, like it was a memory of mine from long ago. The only thing that felt real was the pounding, the nausea, the blood as my teeth sank through my tongue. I whimpered. Even my throat was on fire. And then something touched my shoulder, and it stopped. I felt nothing but the chill from the white tiles beneath my palms, the cold bite of autumn wind on my cheeks, and something
warm gently rubbing my back. Even the taste of blood in my mouth was gone. “Easy,” Oz said, and pulled me to my feet with those same strong hands that had so sweetly petted that cat and given me water. He held my shoulders as I gained my balance. “Are you okay?” No, this couldn’t be real. This had never happened before. Nothing ever made the pain stop but running as if the devil himself was on my heels. “What did you do?” My voice wavered. Fear, I realized. It crawled through my limbs, made any movement other than shaking impossible. He swallowed. For a split second the smile on his face faltered, and he looked down. “What do you mean?” He asked evenly. My breath came in short, rapid bursts. He was hiding something. Every cell in my body knew it. And yet the very instinct that recognized it prevented me from calling him on it.
His grip on me tightened. I shut my eyes and asked that same question again with different words: “How did you stop the pain?”
Chapter 2 Oz shrugged. “I have a soothing affect on people.” Yeah right. No one was that soothing. “Why didn’t you call an ambulance when I collapsed the first time?” I continued. He chewed on his lip. “I looked through your purse. You had some medication for epilepsy and migraines.” Okay, I did have meds for those things in my purse. It wasn’t the best excuse, but it made sense. I would have accepted it if he hadn’t had to stop so long to think of it first. His hand was still on my shoulder. He hadn’t taken it off after I’d steadied myself— after my breathing had become normal. The weight of it suddenly felt very heavy. “Is that why won’t you take your hands off me, even now?” I took a step back, daring him to let go of me. He didn’t, but he did grit his teeth. “What are you really?” I don’t know where those words had come from, or what I
was trying to imply by saying them. But the moment they left my lips he flinched, as if he had done something shameful. Something in me snapped, and the muscles in my stomach tightened as an overwhelming feeling of helplessness washed over me. “Never mind. If it upsets you that much you don’t have to tell me.” The wind felt so cold on my eyes—because they were wet, I realized. I lifted my hands to his chest and grabbed his shirt, holding onto him more tightly than he was holding me. “Do you know how many years I’ve spent wishing that something could make it go away? The possibility of that pain looms over me all the time. It doesn’t even have a trigger, and nothing stops it until its run its course— nothing, that is, except you.” I studied at his eyes. There was something akin to tenderness in them. Or maybe that was what tenderness really looked like—not a crumpled brow or trembling lip, but two large, green eyes that stared back at you unflinchingly.
“You just touched me and it went away, as if it hadn’t happened,” I said. “I wish I could do that.” He looked away first. “Don’t say things like that.”
But I would, I thought. I think I would do just about anything to be able to heal somebody like you just did. My grip on him loosened, so much so that when he stepped away the fabric of his shirt slipped from my fingers like sand. His hold on my wrist didn’t waver, though. What was he? A kid who had rebelled against a religious order and abandoned his training? My grandmother had told me stories about men in India who could do things like this—manipulate prana or something like that. They could suffer insane amounts of pain. They could heal others or possess them, or both. Still, I’d always thought that last part was just her superstitions talking. Anyone who could do that couldn’t possibly be evil—or if they were they probably had a good reason
for it. “Come on, you promised me dinner.” I struggled to keep my voice light so he would think that I was over it. He nodded. “I did.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. I hadn’t fooled him one bit, but he was still going to accept this truce and that was good enough for me. *** It was only 7 pm so Dixie’s was empty. Things didn’t really get going until midnight, when suddenly every stoner in Portland showed up for at least three plates of greasy pancakes and a side order of fries. At that hour you would be lucky to be seated someplace other than the chipped lime green floor, but right now it was just us and the bald guy with gauged ears perched behind the register. He didn’t look up when we stepped inside. “Sit wherever you want.” It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark room. Black velvet curtains blocked out the windows, the walls were the
color of deep plum, and I swore the flickering overhead lights glowed softer than Christmas lights. However, my mysterious benefactor didn’t seem affected. He led me by the hand as I stumbled behind him through the maze of steel chairs to a booth in the corner of the room. The seats were upholstered with leopard printed fuzz and patched-up with duct tape. He took the one beneath the signed portrait of Tim Curry, which meant I got to sit next to the jukebox and the 20 foot statue of Jesus being crucified. “I can see why you chose this place,” I said, remembering the poppet by the front door of his shop. “Hey, it’s close and the food is good.” He grinned. “Also, it’s cheap.” I looked down to hide my cheeks, which to my mortification seemed to be blushing. Still, it wasn’t like he would’ve noticed in the dark. I just didn’t know how to respond or how to take the fact that I considered his reply, which many girls would have found insulting, incredibly cute.
The bald guy set down two menus and two cups of water, and my partner asked for a side order of fries. The waiter nodded and left without a word. Oz picked up his menu and flicked it open. “Do you like art, Devi?” I frowned. It seemed like a simple enough question, so why did he have such a wicked glint in his eye? “Sometimes,” I responded slowly. He grinned as if I’d said something extremely fascinating or really stupid. “I like the art here, especially the pieces that are painted on velvet. While they might be pretentious, they are also refreshingly explicit representations of the artist’s psyche.” He paused. “Take, for example, that stunning landscape to your left.” I turned. The painting looked like a surrealists’ nightmare, mostly because it was the cheesiest faux-surrealist painting I’d ever seen. Unicorns were charging out of a vortex in the fire-streaked sky. So were fetuses and chicken heads. Soaring above
the buildings that looked like they belonged on the cover of Atlas Shrugged was a blimp that had “obey” spray-painted on the side. Dripping over everything was a soupy, armygreen substance I had no desire to identify. Oh, and this fantastical scene had been immortalized on velvet. Oz leaned forward. “What do you think —artistic genius or bad acid trip?” I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. “It’s difficult to say.” He clicked his tongue. “You must call it.” “Okay okay,” I teetered back and forth on my seat as I peered at him from across the table. Why did I find this random topic so much fun? “Bad acid trip.” He sucked in his breath. “I’m going to have to disagree. See the puke green swamp that is slowly swallowing its surroundings? That’s obviously a metaphor for alienation in modern industrial society.” “If that was the artist’s intent, I think he made it a little too obvious.” I took a sip of
water before continuing. “Still, I think your reasoning is flawed. My vote goes to him mixing together all the remaining colors on his pallet and slapping the result around because he didn’t know how to finish it.” He frowned. “I have no flaws.” I rolled my eyes. There was only so much silly banter I could take. “Everyone has flaws,” I told him. He shook his head. “Not everyone. My flaws simply anticipate future genius.” I laughed outright then as a feeling of perfect, incandescent, cliched happiness welled up in my stomach. It had been almost a decade since I felt this good, I realized as I squeezed his hand and smiled like an idiot. That’s right. We were still holding hands, or rather I was clutching onto his as if my life depended on it, partly because I was afraid the pain in my head would return and partly because I just didn’t want to let him go. And then he dropped the bomb. “I suppose it’s natural that you would have difficulty following my logic since I’m not
human.” I almost spit the gulp of water I’d just taken all over the table. “What?” I asked shakily, but I actually meant: No, take it back. Smile and tell me you’re joking. He didn’t. The air left my lungs as if I’d been sucker punched. This wonderful, sexy, funny guy was completely psychotic. And I was still holding his hand. Even more surprisingly, I still didn’t want to let go. The waiter plopped his side order of fries on the table and asked what we wanted. “I’m not hungry,” I answered meekly. The waiter raised a brow and took the menu I hadn’t even touched. “Two orders of chocolate peanut butter pancakes.” Oz said and gave me a wink. “If you don’t want any I’ll eat “em all.” Once the waiter was out of earshot I whispered: “Do you really believe you’re not
a person?” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I said anything. Just forget about it.” I grit my teeth. “How could I possibly forget about it?” My voice was significantly higher than it should have been. He stuck a fry in my face. “Here.” “That won’t help,” I said, but began chewing and realized that it did take my mind off it. Kind of. I swallowed and reached for another fry. “So what are you, exactly?” I asked, hoping he would say something mundane like, I don’t feel like I can relate to people. I could understand that. He did have the ability to heal with a touch, and had probably received that ability from some sort of identity-breaking, rigorous training. Just growing up differently could make you feel like an entirely different species, which I knew far too well. If he thought he was something a bit weirder…well, maybe I could handle it. As long as he didn’t say he was an android or a
creature. Oh God, please, please, please don’t say vampire, I prayed. mythological
He grinned. “Do you really want to know?” My lungs were heavy, as if I were sinking in that grim, olive-colored slime that had seemed to slowly swallow every object in that surreal painting. “I actually really don’t want to know,” I admitted. “Up until a few seconds ago I had a lot of illusions about you being this incredible, sane guy and I’d like to keep them, but I’m not going to be satisfied until I do.” “Fine then, I won’t tell you.” I planted my face in my palm and sighed. “It doesn’t matter how crazy this is, I’m going to be thinking about it all night.” His gave me a purely demonic grin. “Then I definitely won’t tell you.” My eyes narrowed. “That’s nothing to be proud of that.” “And why wouldn’t I be proud of keeping a pretty girl up all night?” He chuckled and
chewed on a French fry. My face and the back of my neck burned. He had to be joking. No one could say something so horrifying and then eat a French fry. Supernatural beings didn’t like fast food, I was sure of it. This was all an elaborate hoax and I just hadn’t picked up on it yet. It had to be, and even if it wasn’t I would pretend it was. Pretend until it became true. “Well, you can’t be a vampire.” I struggled to make it sound like I was teasing, not feverishly wishing. “You’re not sparkling.” He laughed. “Maybe I only sparkle at night.” “So you’re like a disco ball?” He raised his glass of water as if to toast himself. “And I wear white, rhinestonestudded bell bottoms.” Just then “What is Love” started blaring from of the jukebox. An image of Oz decked out in body glitter and giving me a smoldering gaze as he did “the point”
flashed in my mind. It made me laugh so hard that it almost made me fall out of my chair. “It’s unfortunate that you liked that possibility so much. I’m not a vampire, though I’m certainly a lot sexier than one.” “You have no idea how much that puts me at ease,” I said. “You can’t be a werewolf either, because you have a cat.” He nodded. “A very domineering cat. I’d never hear the end of it if I brought a dog home or, you know, turned into one.” I leaned back with a grin. “Maybe you’re a centaur,” I teased. This was kind of fun… as long as it wasn’t real. “Well, some people do associate my kind with Pan.” I remembered the poppet in the corner of Morrison’s with a sinking heart. “You really do think that you’re a supernatural creature, don’t you?” I let go of his hand and pushed away my plate. “I don’t think I can eat anymore.”
The moment I stopped touching him the pain returned. I slammed my elbows into the table and pushed my fists into my head. “No, no…” He grabbed my wrist. The feel of his warm, dry skin silenced the fears in my head and made the pain go away. All of it. I couldn’t say anything. There was definitely something different about him. “Devi,” he whispered, “have you ever wondered where this pain comes from?” “I have epilepsy,” I stated calmly, repeating what every doctor had told me for years and years. “But you don’t believe that explanation, do you?” My body looked still but inside I was shaking violently, as if time had stopped and yet somehow my heart had continued to beat. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.” “Alright,” he gave my hand a squeeze. “Will you just answer one question for me,
though?” I nodded after a long pause. “How old were you when the headaches started?” “Seven.” He leaned back. True to his word he didn’t say anything more. But I wanted to tell him. I inhaled quickly, as if I believed that filling my mouth with air to prevent myself from saying what came next. Some masoch*stic part of me wanted to spill my guts until I cried in front of him. It wanted to tell him things I had never told anyone, not even the slew of therapists my mother had pushed in front of me right after it my brother disappeared. None of them had believed that my headaches were a punishment. When you’re a child people always tell you it’s not your fault, but I knew it was no matter how many times people tried to convince me otherwise out of pity or compassion. They hadn’t been
there. They didn’t know. I hadn’t paid attention to his warning the night before when he sneaked into my room and told me he was scared. It’s raining too hard, he’d said. It’s going to wash me away. But I loved the rain; I told him he was just being silly. The next morning there’d been only the remnants of rain—moisture in the air, the smell of new growth mixing with wet soil. Still he’d been frightened, so I’d grabbed his hand and told him that he didn’t need to be afraid because I would never let go, and I hadn’t as we jumped in puddles on our way to the clearing to watch the sun rise over the mountains beyond the city. Like the night before I hadn’t paid attention to the way he kept looking at me as if he were trying to memorize my face, the way his ice cold fingers squeezed mine desperately, as if he knew something would happen. But even that wasn’t the worst of it. The second the light flashed I let go of his hand to cover my eyes, and when I dropped them all I could do was watch the beautiful man
who’d appeared, dressed in white.
An angel, I’d thought. God has sent us an angel. But angels do not take away everything you love. The man snatched my brother and fear paralyzed me. No, I’d thought. Something’s not right. My brother screamed but I couldn’t move my lips, couldn’t move at all. And the man looked at me as if he’d already known I would hesitate. Anger rose within me, deeper than any I’d known before or since. How did he, that terrible stranger, know that I would fail at the moment my brother needed me the most? That part I could have almost been forgiven for. I’d been young, after all. But afterwards, in the seconds before the light consumed my brother, I did not meet his gaze when he looked over his shoulder to glance at me one last time. Instead I’d stared into the stranger’s eyes, clear and blue as a tropical sea. He’d been so beautiful that I’d almost wept, as if I’d believed the greatest meaning I could find in
life was to look at him just once. As if any price I’d have to pay was worth it. That thought had entered my head for just a fraction of a second, but God had heard; and in his cruel wisdom he’d imprinted that perfect face in my memory so I would never forget I’d traded the thing I cherished most in this world for a glimpse of heaven.
Chapter 3 Nothing could kill a conversation quite like fighting back tears after you’re asked a simple question. The pancakes hadn’t arrived yet, which meant I couldn’t drown my sorrows in maple syrup. Instead I settled for a sip of water. To Oz’s credit, he didn’t say anything, probably because he’d decided that trying to converse with someone so temperamental wasn’t worth it. Unfortunately for him I still wanted to talk. “I like your tattoos,” I said, then cringed. Was that really the best segue I could come up with? I like your tattoos? I wasn’t fooling anybody. “I also like them,” he replied. Well, that didn’t surprise me. “When did you get them?” “Many, many years ago, when I was still a kid.” I raised a brow. “What did your parents
say?” He traced the dragon on his forearm as his lips curled into an unnerving smile. “Well, my dad gave it to me. I guess you could call it a going away present.” A knife twisted itself in my lungs when I inhaled, as if my lungs were already filled with air and any more would cause them to burst. Father. This pain was different from the one I felt whenever I thought of my brother, but different. Less searing—a deep ache that unsettled instead of blinded me. I raised my glass and gulped down the water this time. It was just ridiculous. Any time someone mentioned fathers or brothers I started acting like a freak. I guess most people had good reasons for thinking I was strange, and unfortunately I was presenting them all at once to the sexy guy seated in front of me. Something flickered in Oz’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I don’t have any hard feelings about it.” He used a reassuring tone, which
probably meant he knew he was witnessing a meltdown. Great. Why wouldn’t my stomach stop tying itself into knots? He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but we were saved from trying to continue that train wreck of a conversation by the arrival of pancakes. They were still steaming and chocolate dripped decadently from the many layers. “Is your appetite back?” Oz asked. “I think so.” “Good.” He slid one of the plates to me. “Will that be all?” Our waiter sneered. Yes, actually sneered. I slouched over in my seat. “Yes,” Oz said smoothly. The waiter rolled his eyes. “Don’t burn your tongue, miss,” he said. There seemed to be a hidden meaning in there somewhere, but I couldn’t figure it out. Then the waiter let out an exaggerated sigh and left. “What was up with that?” I asked once
he’d disappeared into the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just moody because it’s been about nine months since he’s gotten laid, and he thinks I’m going to get some tonight.” I almost choked on the pancake. Oz put his hand on his belly and looked down. “Don’t make that face.” He said, trying unsuccessfully to keep himself from laughing. “I know it’s not happening. Besides, I don’t know you well enough yet. You could be scary.” I forced the uncooperative bite of pancake down my throat. “You think I’m scary?” I squealed. “I hope you realize this is coming from the guy who said he wasn’t human.” Oz shrugged. “Well, at least I warned you. You’ve barely hinted at your secrets. In fact, you probably don’t even know most of them yourself.” He sighed. It was a lot softer than the waiter’s sigh—I almost would have described it as affectionate. “You have some serious baggage.”
I dropped my fork. “Every teenage girl has baggage.” “Yours is bigger than most.” He inhaled and held his breath. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. Was he talking about my headaches? Or my awkward, long silences that probably seemed at best random and at worst insane? No, that couldn’t be it. He had no trouble calling me other things, like temperamental. He leaned forward. Over the husky first line of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here,” he said: “You’re either extremely lucky or very unlucky that I like you so much.” My heart skipped a beat. “I like you too,” I replied, and then looked away. I couldn’t meet his eyes. That four word confession of mine suddenly seemed to possess more significance than I’d intended, but what startled me more was that it was true. “Don’t get me wrong,” I continued briskly, “I don’t really like the fact that I like you. It’s kind of making me question my sanity.” I shook my head. “You were joking about that whole “not human’ thing, right?
He didn’t respond, but his entire face softened. I couldn’t tell if that was good or bad. His hand felt really warm, too. Reassuring. Mine was cold and clammy as hell. I coughed. “So how do you know that I have baggage? Is that one of your secret powers, like being able to heal people with a touch, or know when they had sex last?” He laughed. “It’s one of them.” I squirmed in my seat. “Can you really tell when people last had sex? I mean, is that even a real superpower?” His fingers toyed with the corner of his napkin as he smiled. “So that’s the “power’ of mine that you’re most interested in?” “That’s definitely not the one I’m most interested in!” I protested. “I just think it’s weird.” His smile deepened. “Would you like me to test my skills on you?” It didn’t take me long to answer that question. “No.”
He pushed the napkin aside. “Oh come on. It’s harmless.” “I doubt that,” I said dryly. Oz didn’t listen. “First, I need to get a better look at you.” He turned over my hand so that my palm faced up. “Hey, you didn’t need to do that with the waiter.” His green eyes narrowed—a challenge. “Are you questioning my methods?” I swallowed. “Yes. This sounds like an excuse to stroke my hand.” This time his grin was purely demonic. “I’ve been stroking it all night. You haven’t noticed?” That shut me up. Or maybe it was the way his thumb slipped over the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist. It was rougher than I’d noticed. He was a bookstore clerk, not someone who made a living from working with his hands. And yet his hands seemed as if they’d spent years toiling the earth. Not like mine, pathetically
soft from doing nothing but schoolwork and, over the past few summers, scooping ice cream for the endless parade of screaming kids at Benny’s. He lowered his head until I could feel his breath on my cool skin. I inhaled sharply as his lips parted, and a delicious, terrifying longing replaced the dread in my stomach. He studied my palm as if its creases were really an ancient language. “I think it’s been longer for you,” he said after about a minute. ”How much longer?” My voice sounded foreign to my ears, high-pitched and soft and completely feminine. I didn’t want to hear his answer, or any answer. My lips parted and I shut my eyes. “If I had to guess,” he drawled, “I’d have to say you never have.” “Yeah right,” I replied, completely breathless. This was ridiculous. All he was doing was holding my hand and telling me things that I already knew, like that I was a virgin. Still my heart raced and, to my dismay, there was no way he wouldn’t be able to feel it because his fingers were right
over my pulse point.
Stop it, I told my heart and breathed slowly to make it slow. It didn’t work, of course. His thumb pressed into my skin a bit deeper, and my pulse skyrocketed. I glared at him. “Did you really need to look at my hand to figure that out?” “No,” he admitted. “But I needed to look at it to see other things.” Other things. I didn’t like the sound of that. “So what—do you read palms or auras or something?” He leaned back. My palm still faced up, but his hand was beneath instead of on top of it. “Something like that. You don’t think that’s weird as well?” I tilted my head. “It’s not so strange. I was able to see auras as a child, or at least I think that’s what they were.” “Most children are.” “I read that somewhere once,” I smiled, amazed at how quickly my heartbeat and breathing had returned to normal once he’d
stopped holding and studying me. “I remember one day looking at this blue haze over a plant. It irritated me. I wanted to just see the color and texture of the leaves, not the ghost-like colorful blob obscuring my vision. So I focused on the plant itself until the cloud disappeared, and after that I never saw an aura again.” I took a drink of water, and then filled the silence when Oz didn’t immediately respond. “Alright, I guess that isn’t entirely true. Sometimes I still see colors at night which could be auras, or could be something else, but in any event I don’t want them. I think the world is most beautiful as it is.” He still didn’t say anything. “Did I just say something strange?” I asked timidly. “Yes,” he drew out the word. “But I also think it was one of the most touching things I’ve ever heard.” My lips curled. “You would think so, Mr. Not-quite-human.” “You’re pretty unique yourself.” He said.
Not nearly as unique as you, I thought. The waiter put down the bill and Oz paid. We made our way to the front of the restaurant. I looked back at the corner seat, once. My best friend Kim often avoided or wanted to go to places she’d previously gone to while out with a guy, depending on how she’d felt about him. This trendy diner would be like that for me now, because I’d never be able to look at Dixie’s without thinking of Oz. I guess I could say the same thing about Morrison’s too. “I guess this is goodbye,” I said once we were outside. “Not yet. I still have to walk you home.” I tried not to let on how happy I that made me. “You have to?” “Yeah. It’s late. I need to make sure you get home safe.” My toes curled in my sneakers. “Uh huh.” He leaned against the window. Cherry red light flashed onto his face and leather
jacket from the blinking, neon 24-hour open sign, making him look like the grungy, teenage killer in one of those awful 80s slasher flicks. It also made what he said next sound incredibly menacing: “Come on, you can’t be serious about walking home alone at 9:30pm.” I tucked my chin into my chest to hide my smile. There was so much wrong with this picture. First, I shouldn’t have found that funny, and second, I walked home alone every night. However, given the way he’d phrased it I decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to let him in on that particular secret. “Alright, but it’s pretty far,” I told him. “I don’t mind. I’ll even take your bag.” He lifted the strap from my shoulder and I let him take it. Actually, I was kind of tempted to toss it at him once he’d offered. I knew that was impolite, but damn I hated carrying that thing. The streets were empty. Everyone but us was in restaurants or the clubs, or tucked away in their homes. I didn’t say anything as we started the winding climb to my home.
He was quiet too, and seemed just as content as I was to take in scenery as it slowly changed from dark gray concrete to the forest canopy. In daylight it would have been as green as his eyes, I realized, but beneath this moon the branches and leaves were indigo, dark purple and brown. The patterns their silhouettes made against the sky were as intricate and delicate as the stars behind them. I glanced at him. Giving him my bag had been a good idea, since he carried it as if it were weightless. The only one panting, groaning, and disgustingly sweaty was me. Unfortunately, he probably knew this because we were still holding hands. My grip on him tightened as we passed the spot on the bluff. Almost there, I told myself. I couldn’t stop now. It was dark and I was with Oz, and God I was thankful for that. Ten minutes later I stopped. “This is it,” I told him, nodding towards the ranch-style house. He didn’t respond for a moment. It was
nearly impossible to make out anything in the dark, but his eyes looked glassy as he handed me my bag. “I guess this is goodbye.” “Yeah,” I replied, and stepped closer. He seemed to smile. “But you aren’t leaving.” No, not yet, but I couldn’t tell him it was because I was afraid to let go of him. It didn’t have anything to do with his ability to stop the pain anymore. I knew I’d found something precious, and I didn’t want to let him go for fear I’d lose him like my brother. To even admit it to myself seemed sacrilegious, but it was true. I shivered once, not from the cold. “Why do I trust you so much?” I asked myself as much as him. “Does it bother you?” He asked. “A little bit,” I said, wondering why it didn’t bother me more. I’d just led a stranger to my home, after all. Lots of 80s slasher flicks started just like that, but that wasn’t what scared me. I wanted to tell him
everything about myself; a part of me believed on some level that he could remove those sorrows from my heart in the same way he removed my pain with a single touch. Putting that much faith in someone was cruel, but I couldn’t help myself. I swallowed. “Would you think I was a coward if I told you I didn’t want to know what you were?” I couldn’t read his expression in the dark. “No.” “I just like talking to you like this,” I continued. He glanced at the door. “Is that why you’re stalling?” “Yes, well, if I let go of your hand my head will start to hurt again.” He chuckled. “So I’m your band aid?” “Yeah. I should peel off of you quick and dash inside.” I took a deep breath and said what was really on my mind. “But I don’t even know your phone number or anything.” “It’s the same number as Morrison’s,”
he said. “Oh, I guess that’s easy.” Damn, we were both out in the cold and I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. He tipped up my chin. “Give me a call, alright? Or at least stop by the bookstore and let me know that you were able to heal due to that special dinner with me.” They weren’t exactly the parting words I wanted to hear. Call me as soon as you wake up, please, would have been better. Or maybe he could have just told me that he liked me again. “I’ll call and stop by,” I told him. “Probably way more times than you’d want me to.” “I’d like that.” He spoke so softly. Even though I could barely hear his words everything about him, from his body’s heat to the silhouette of his face, soothed me. He gripped my hand gently, as if it were precious and he shouldn’t be touching it. “I’ll tell you another secret, too,” he whispered. “If you let go of right me now you’ll feel fine. It just wanted you to go home,
which I’m sure you already knew. So why did you stay by me?” “It? What are you talking about? Why would something want me to stay away from you?” He sighed. “The headaches prevent you from seeing things you shouldn’t see, and going places you should not go.” What was he talking about? Did he think there were little people in my head telling me to do things? Well, I guess that wasn’t as bad as him thinking he wasn’t human… “Think about it for a moment before you answer,” he continued. I didn’t want to think about it. Indulging someone’s insanity like this couldn’t be healthy. But some of what he said made sense. There’d been times when I could almost swear it was trying to protect me. Like the time it stopped me from going home the day my dad had committed suicide in the living room. I would have been the one to discover
him. Perhaps he’d even chosen that day and time so it would have been me who walked through the door after school. Somehow I knew that had been the reason. He’d wanted me to be the first one to see the pool of his blood seeping into the couch, the rug, saturating the white clothes on his body red. After I’d told everyone that it had been my fault that my brother was taken, dad had been the only one who believed me. Or maybe he’d just wished that the daughter had been taken instead of the son. “Devi,” Oz whispered. “It has kept you safe, hasn’t it?” I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Why had all these unsavory memories resurfaced tonight of all nights, just after I’d met the very person who could make all my pain disappear? He swallowed. “Did you know deep in your gut that you shouldn’t have trusted me? That you shouldn’t be here with me now?”
No, I thought. I didn’t think that. The pain wanted me to run, but I didn’t. But my
throat was already closed. I pressed my face into the soft leather of his coat and allowed the darkness to swallow my red-painted memories until everything was black and numb. He gripped both shoulders and held me at arm’s length. “Trust your instincts next time, no matter how crazy they seem at the moment.” “Is that what you call this pain? My instincts?” “Yes.”
You’re wrong , I thought. It would have even been better if I’d been the one to discover my father instead of my mom. Though he’d hated me he’d loved her. That his dying wishes had been ignored just made his death seem even more pointless. “What if they tell me to get away from you again?” I asked. “Should I listen?” He leaned back on his heels and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I should probably say yes, but I’m not that selfless. I’ll let you decide.” He kissed the top of my
head. “I understand if you don’t call.” “You know,” I murmured, eyes shut, “I think I can get over the fact that you’re delusional, and that my “instincts,’ as you call it, want me to get away from you. I don’t care what they say, especially when I know they’re wrong.” I let go of his hand. He’d been right. I felt nothing—not even a tremor in my chest. But no, that wasn’t entirely true. There was a small trembling near my heart, and a weakness that gave me bliss instead of pain. “You’re right. I seem to be okay without you now.” I toyed with the fraying pockets of my jeans. I took a step back and studied him. There wasn’t much to see in the dark, but what I could make out made me smile. “Thanks for dinner and walking me home.” “Goodnight,” he said. He didn’t walk me to the door. In fact, when I looked over my shoulder at the front step I couldn’t see him. For some reason that bothered me far more than it should
have. I shook my head as I turned around and touched the doorknob. The door swung open. “Damn it mom,” I muttered. She never locked it no matter how many times I asked her to. I shut it behind me, dropped my back in the corner and stepped hallway. And then I froze. My legs stopped. My arms stopped. I couldn’t move any part of my body except to breathe. A shape moved from behind the kitchen counter in front of me. A scream built up in my chest. But I couldn’t move my mouth, or even whimper in the back of my throat. All I could do was breathe faster and faster as the shape took human form. Two eyes glowed in the darkness. They stared at me, never blinking—a brilliant, deep purple that I couldn’t tear my gaze from. “Hello Devi.” The foreign, cultured voice
swept over my skin, causing every hair on my body to stand on end. “I was beginning to think you’d never come home.”
Chapter 4 The man leaned against the entryway to the kitchen. He had a lean and striking silhouette, like a Renaissance statue. That cold elegance did nothing to reassure my heart as it hammered against my rib cage. He was like a knife, all harsh angles and violent promises. “I’m sorry to startle…” He pressed his forefinger to his lips. His eyes darted to the space above my shoulder, and his chest rose and fell at a faster speed than it had just moments before. “To your knowledge are we alone right now, Devi?” There was some kind of music in his voice; decadent and almost playful, like a chromatic fugue played on an organ. I couldn’t place the accent. I’d never heard anything like it before. The way he spoke my name was beautiful and it shouldn’t have been. I wanted to scream and hit him but my throat just burned, as if it had already screamed itself hoarse.
He continued: “Nod if it’s yes, shake your head if it’s no.” What game was this? He knew we were alone. Oh God, why hadn’t Oz walked me to the door? He’d come so far and should have insisted…but no, I couldn’t blame him for this. Tears ran down my cheeks, into the corners of my mouth. They tasted salty and desperate. “I can see you think we are. That makes me very happy, Devi. It should make you happy too.” I forced my eyes shut. Stop. Saying. My. Name . The tears cascaded down my cheeks now, hot and wet, along the edges of my neck and into my shirt. The desire to wipe them away as almost as agonizing as the stiffness of my muscles as they tried to move. “Please don’t cry.” He took a step forward and for one horrific second I thought he would touch me. “I’m not here to hurt you or force you to do anything. I just want to make you a proposition, and I think it will
benefit us both.” His white teeth flashed. “Do you want to know what happened to your brother seven years ago?” I stopped my futile struggle to move. “What?” I croaked. The man smiled again. “See? The spell is already breaking. Soon we’ll be able to converse normally.” “Brother.” I winced. When I spoke it felt like the inside of my throat was being polished by sandpaper. “What happened?” My foot wobbled forward. Pins and needles. I bit my lip and hissed. My entire body had gone to sleep, I realized, and now every cell tingled and stung. “What do you know…brother?” I choked out. “How do you know?” “Not so many questions so quickly,” he replied. I took another step forward. I warbled on my stiff ankles and my hips slammed into the wall. “What do you know about him?” I repeated, hoarse and unable to make sense of anything other than my desperation. In that
moment I didn’t care about my safety, didn’t even care that this person had broken into my home. I just needed to know. And then the nausea returned—a sharp pounding in my head that hammered away the sensation of pins and needles until nothing was left but the blood roaring in my ears, the searing pain in my stomach, the feeling of my organs being liquidated internally. My knees buckled. I fell forward like a kid playing timber and landed with a sickening thud on the linoleum. The stranger above me tisked. “You’re not playing by the rules.” I could barely hear his voice over my ringing ears. “You can’t get in the way of her free will.” I crawled on my belly, unable to lift my chin off the floor. “What happened?” My tears mixed with the dust and dirt on the ground, making a thin mud that smeared over my cheeks. The stranger crouched and grabbed my chin with waxy hands even colder than the air. I bit my tongue as he tipped back my head so I could meet his eyes.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. I could scarcely register his words, make sense of the scene. “What happened to him?” “I don’t know but I can take you to someone who does. However, I will need something from you first.”
Anything. My mind pledged. But my throat constricted, refusing to allow even a single syllable to escape. Sharp, short breaths emerged from my throat, pained and creaking, like my brother’s and my soft and uncertain footsteps when we crept down the hallway as children, eavesdropping on conversations not meant for our ears. I’m worried about him. He never goes outside. He’s always sleeping. The adults always said things like that, and as we listened he’d hug my arm. Afraid or unafraid, I could never tell, but I knew that he needed me just as I needed him.
Anything for you, I pledged anew, twisting my elbows as I pulled myself closer
to the stranger. My hands launched forward and I wrung my fists into the cuff of the stranger’s pinstriped, tailored silk slacks. I
would do anything a hundred times if it led me to you, the part of me I thought I could not live without. Every day spent without you makes me feel like I’ve abandoned you again. But the words did not come, just the tears. “Still can’t speak,” the man above spat impatiently. “Alright then, nod. Nod if you want me to take you to my Prince.” Before I could move the front door slammed open. “Get away from her, Forneus.” My grip on the stranger’s slacks tightened reflexively. Somehow I knew who would be standing at the door before I rolled my head to the side, though I didn’t understand why he was here. Oz looked like hell. At some point during the past seven minutes it had started
to rain. His boots tracked water across the floor as he stalked forward, and strands of his black hair were matted against his face. However, even more startling were his eyes, glowing like an emerald fire in the night. ”Step away,” Oz enunciated roughly and raised his hand. Moonlight glinted off a silver barrel. The stranger staggered back. “Azazel, hold on a second—” Oz didn’t listen, didn’t wait. He pulled the trigger. The intruder—no, Forneus?—fell to the floor, gripping his stomach. Blood spurted from his side like a hose all over the linoleum, making it shine like the surface of a shaded pond. I was too stunned to scream. Too afraid to do anything as something wet splashed on my face. I raised my hand to my cheek. It was shaking, I realized, and rubbing something wet deep into my skin. I pulled it away from my face to see my aubergine-coated finger tips. No, it wasn’t just something. It was
Forneus’ blood. Those familiar dark boots appeared in front of me. I hadn’t even heard his footsteps cross the floor. My ears still rang from the sound of that gunshot, and my mind was blank except for the sensation of cold, wet panic. I looked up at Oz’s face, but he paid me no attention. His hand, which now resembled a leathery claw more than flesh, enclosed Forneus’ neck. Forneus looked like a different being entirely. Gray skin rotted away from his face, and the skin seemed like it remained intact from will alone. His entire body was covered in old festering wounds. Oz dug one sharp, black finger into Forneu’s neck. Then he slid his finger all the way down from the man’s chest to his belly, gutting him like a fish. “What are you doing?” I screamed. He was going to kill him right in front of me. “Don’t come closer, Devi.” Oz’s voice was so stern that I almost followed the order
without questioning it. His grim eyes looked at Forneus almost tenderly. “I should just leave you like this.” Forneus gurgled blood out of his mouth and from his open throat. “Did you agree to anything, Devi?” Oz asked. “We hadn’t gotten to that point yet, Azazel. Settle down,” Forneus begged. His voice didn’t sound so musical now. How was this guy still talking? Why was he calling Oz Azazel? “Devi?” Oz asked without looking away from his prey. I swallowed. A man’s life depended on the answer to his question. “Yes, that’s right. I didn’t agree to anything.” I replied too quickly. Hopefully he wouldn’t consider my nerves a sign of me lying. “Good.” He walked to the center of my mom’s kitchen with Forneus’ head still cradled in his hand and smashed it into the side of the stainless steel island. “Don’t ever agree to anything this bastard says. If you’re
dying and he asks if you want to live don’t say yes. Do you understand?” My breath was really rapid, now. Too much air filled my lungs, making me feel light headed. Oh God, don’t faint. That man…A dent creased his skull from where Oz had smashed his temple into the corner of the island. It looked like a scene from a suburban horror movie. But it was real. He was going to die in front of me. I had to concentrate. “Stop,” I screeched and forced myself to not look away from the scene. “Oz, stop right now, you’re killing him…” Oz grinned grimly. “There isn’t anything on earth that could kill this thing.” “Fine way to talk about the guy that bought you drinks two nights ago.” More blood bubbled from Forneus’ throat as he spoke. Oz popped it with a finger from his free hand. “What do you mean he can’t die? How do you know each other?” Oz coughed. “He can’t die because he was never really alive.”
“He’s not exactly human,” I whispered. Did that mean Oz was also… No. It couldn’t be. But both of them had glowing eyes. And Forneus looked like someone had just dug him out of a grave. Then brutally tortured him. Then released him into the wilderness, where he’d been chased by killer bees, attacked by rabid wolves, and struck by lightning. And Oz’s hand looked like a dragon’s claw. “You were telling the truth,” I babbled. “This evening when you said you weren’t quite human. You’re just like, like—” I pointed at the decaying body before me, unable to finish. “I wouldn’t go that far,” Oz sneered. “We’re just good friends, right Azazel?” Forneus croaked. “Good friends,” I parroted. So this was how beings who weren’t quite human greeted their pals. Forneus didn’t even look
fazed about the fact that he was currently being ripped apart. Neither of them looked at me anymore. Oz had left the island and was currently pushing Forneus’ face down on the top of the oven. “What were you offering her?” “It was nothing underhanded,” Forneus hissed. “Christ, don’t turn on the burner!” “I asked what you offered her?” Oz repeated. Forneus winced. “Nothing underhanded. I just said that I would tell her what happened to her brother.” Oz’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to her brother?” “I don’t know.” Oz reached down, wrapped a finger around Forneus’ intestine, and pulled it out. Forneus howled and kicked at Oz’s legs. “I don’t know. It’s the truth. I was just supposed to bring her in.” “To who?” Forneus smiled and his bottom lip split. “You really have no idea who she is, do you?
Oh, this is a sweet turn of events.” “Don’t piss me off,” Oz whispered. Forneus laughed. “You remember when I told you I wasn’t in town to see you, didn’t you? Or did it damage your ego so much that you blocked it from your memory?” Oz rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. Do you want me to turn the burner on? I bet that nasty, old skin of yours will stick to it well. Fill the room with a nice smell.” Something flashed in Forneus’ eyes— fear, maybe. Or disgust. “She’s the one I told you about. Everyone is looking for her. Lucifer wants her.” The room went silent. I couldn’t even hear the sound of breath or blood dripping, as if time itself had stopped. Slowly Oz lifted Forneus so that they were face to face. “Why does he want her?” Forneus looked down coyly. “I can’t say since I was just supposed to bring her in, but isn’t it obvious?”
“Why?” Oz threw him into the counter. Pots and pans my mom had hung from pegs above the cupboards dropped over his face with a clatter. Forneus grimaced. “Christ that hurts. If you keep this up I won’t be able to talk.” “Is it because she’s been marked by an angel?” Oz asked. Marked by an angel? A shiver shot down my spine as if a ghost had just passed through me. “What do you mean I’m marked by an angel?” I demanded, but neither man was listening. “Noticed that much, did you? Good to know you haven’t lost all of your talents.” Forneus sneered. Or tried to sneer. It must have been difficult to act so smug when half your face was missing. “However, I’m still not impressed. It should be obvious to you why he’d want her.” Oz stilled. “Why?” Forneus glared at me. “She belongs to him.”
“What do you mean?” Oz’s voice was cold. Forneus chuckled, kind of. I could see the exposed muscles in his stomach contracting and a hoarse, not-quitecoughing sound emerged from his throat. “Are you actually surprised? Do you mean to tell me that you don’t see anything unusual about her—that ugly, forsaken creature sprawled over there upon the floor?” His eyes met mine with tenderness. “She was born without a spirit.” Something died in me when his eyes met mine. A truth I somehow knew and longed to overturn—the intangible distance I’d always felt between myself and others. Beneath that a lurking fear clawed at my nerves like a child pulling on its mother’s dress, begging me to put my hands over my ears and forget… “What do you mean?” I whispered too softly for any other ears to hear; yet they both heard. “You were born without God’s grace,” Forenus stated. He looked down at me, as if
I were nothing and would always be nothing. “Tha t thing is the first human God has allowed to be dammed in—what is it—5,000 years? And she may be the first ever he created to be condemned. That alone is proof enough that she is destined for our Prince.” Oz grit his teeth. “No.” “Oh, of course she is. It’s not like God marked her—it’s not like He would even want her.” Oz’s knuckles were white as they tightened around Forneus’ collar. “Then why does the angel follow her?” Forenus’ aloof mask crumbled for a moment. “I don’t know. None of us were told that there would be an angel.” Then it was back—the serpentine smile, shifty eyes and sarcastic tone. “But the angel must not be very powerful since he hasn’t manifested. And he must be working alone since he went to a demon for help instead of one of his holy friends.” Oz dropped Forneus unceremoniously
on the counter. The limp body slid onto the floor, and no part of him moved except his mouth and eyes. I was so entranced by that horrific scene that I didn’t notice Oz approach. “Are you alright?” I shrunk away from his voice and hands. He seemed to get the picture that I didn’t want him to touch me at this point. “What is going on?” I whispered. I despised how childish I sounded—weak and inexperienced, as if I needed someone to hold and protect me. I hated even more the fact that it was true. He didn’t answer. His eyes still hadn’t stopped glowing, and despite the fact that his skin and coat were drenched in the scent of rotting flesh and the fresh blood, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful they were. “What are you?” I whispered aloud, afraid he would answer. “Now you know why I said you should stay away.” He smiled. His lip had been split at some point during his struggle with Forneus, but the wound was knitting itself
back together before my eyes. “I wanted you to run away, I think, because I didn’t want to see you look at me this way.” “So all that talk about girls thinking it was hot was a lie?” I said against the lump in my throat. “No. They all think it’s hot until they get a good look at what I really am.” The sadness in his voice touched me. God, I really was insane to feel lightheaded at a moment like this. “Why did he call you Azazel?” I pressed on. Oz actually looked down and bit his lip. Amazing that this would be the thing out of everything he did tonight that he would be ashamed of. “Because it’s my name.” “So your parents didn’t name you after The Wizard of Oz? You did that to yourself?” He raked his bloody palm through his hair. “Yeah,” he said. I suppressed a chill. He’d left a smear of red across is cheek. “Oz sounds like it could be short for Azazel, and it goes with the punk look I guess.”
I balled my fists into the hem of my shirt. My breath was coming too fast, and I simultaneously felt like giggling and screaming. There was so much blood, and yet the tone of my voice revealed none of my horror. “Is that what you were going for? You looked a bit more emo to me.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Damn teenage fads change too fast for someone as old as me to keep up with them.” Someone as old as him? Oh God, how old was he? Was he also a corpse? I suddenly found that slip a lot more frightening than the fact that some guy was rotting on my mom’s cutlery, or the knowledge that I’d been damned. “Sorry to interrupt this tender moment, but could you please put me back together…Oz?” Forneus enunciated the last word like a Shakespearean actor. Oz’s eyes glowed brighter. “You think you deserve it?” Forneus tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but they slid once they touched the
growing, darkening pool on the counter. “It’s nothing personal. I didn’t know you had such an attachment to the human.” Oz leaped up, so fast that I could only see a dark blur as he sped across the floor and punched Forneus through the stomach. Forneus bit back a scream. “It’s partially your fault, you know,” Forneus choked out. “You could have at least told me when we were out that you liked someone.” “I didn’t know then. I just met her a few hours ago.” Forneus couldn’t have looked more shocked. “A few hours ago? Demons are hopeless romantics, but that is pathetic. And she’s just a human…” Oz shook his head. “Are you really going to call her just a human? Have you ever seen another human like her? Is that why Lucifer wants her?” He looked at me intently. No, through me, as if he could see every piece of me. His green eyes grew brighter, fiercer, as if lit by some unearthly fire. He left Forneus’ crumpled form and
walked to where I sat. His fist was still caked in the other man’s blood. “He just wants me because I have no spirit, whatever that means,” I told him. “Maybe.” Oz didn’t contradict me. He placed his hand in the center of my chest. “Or maybe it’s because you possess the most beautiful soul I have ever seen.” A chill grew inside me. “What does it mean to not have a spirit?” Oz placed his head on my shoulder. “It means you are very, very precious,” he murmured. “And I don’t think it would behoove either of us if I stayed away from you, now.” “It just means that no part of you is immortal.” Forneus groaned. “When you die you’ll rot instead of flying up into the sky, because you live in each moment without God’s grace.” “That doesn’t make any sense,” I whined. Forneus slid off the counter top and
knocked his head on the floor. “Look, can you two continue talking about this later? I really need some help here. Now.” Oz didn’t acknowledge his friend’s pain. “Everything on earth exists without a spirit, except humans.” “And what about you? You’re a demon, right? That’s what Forneus said.” Oz bit his lip, as if he were struggling to choose the right words. “I was once pure spirit.” My head began to pound. “What?” “We were both once angels. Then we were bad, and so God banished us.” Forneus cried impatiently. “Damn it, Azazel, heal me. I’m dying over here.” Forneus had managed somehow to climb back up the counter. He was holding onto the sides of the sink for dear life, and really did look like he was dying. All over my mother’s countless memos, the bills she still hadn’t paid, and dirty, unwashed plates. He stretched one hand up to her lacy curtains and grabbed hold, staining the edges red.
“Don’t worry, he can’t die,” Oz said. Oh yes, that certainly reassured me. Especially since right as he said it Forneus flopped onto the floor again, reopening a nasty old wound on his face. Oz got up and stood over him, tapping his toe on the fallen man’s raw cheek. “What will I get in return if I do this for you, dear friend?” He asked softly. “I won’t tell anyone else where she is,” Forneus spat. “I already expect that of you. What else will you do?” He bit his lip—or what was left of it. “Anything. I really don’t care. Just heal me!” Oz picked up Forneus and laid him down on the stainless steel counter in the middle of the island. “You won’t let any other interesting details slip. About her, or me, or you, or her little angel, unless I give you permission. And you won’t try to take her back to hell again. Is that understood?” “Fine, fine. Just start already!” Forneus
squirmed. “Devi,” Oz said over his shoulder. “This isn’t going to be pleasant. You might consider going to the other room.” I got up and stumbled into the wall. An inhuman scream tore through me. I brought my fists to my ears as they began to ring. My body reacted as if it were a sensation, like heat or cold, not a sound. It split my bones, made my hair stand on end. He screamed again and I fell over, burying my face between my knees. My lungs filled with fire. Was I suffocating? I grit my teeth and rocked back and forth. Forneus. That was his name. The being in so much pain and I couldn’t do anything about it. I don’t know why I began to weep. I don’t know why that other thing’s pain hurt me more than my headaches. Perhaps it was my fear, or the acknowledgement of my helplessness. Everything about that sound seared, ached. The tortured man called out again and again as I cowered in a corner.
Then something cool touched my cheek. A silence followed, so thick and deep that I felt as if I were dissolving into it. “It’s alright. Sleep, Devi,” a voice said. It knew I needed reassurance. And so I drifted into that silence, unaware of the world around me, and caught by dreams I did not remember when I awoke.
Chapter 5 Something warm and soft brushed my cheek. “Hey sleepyhead.” “Mom?” I croaked as my eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the open window. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just moving the blanket I put on you last night.” She smiled. “It’s so odd to see you on the couch. That’s generally my spot.” I shot up. “What, Oz—” Oh God, where was he? He and his friend had torn apart my mom’s kitchen! She might be messy, but she was sure to notice bits of flesh and all that blood. Why wasn’t she screaming? Maybe she hadn’t noticed yet… Daylight slipped beneath the clean white curtains above the sink. From where I sat I could see the spotless stainless steel counter and my mom’s paperwork sprawled out upon it, untouched. There was no blood
anywhere. “Oz?” My mother repeated.
The guy I met last night. I had met him, hadn’t I? It couldn’t have all been a dream. But then… “Was there a mess when you got home?” I whispered hesitantly. My mom’s eyes narrowed. “Not that I noticed. Why, did you do something?” “I thought…” I couldn’t finish. There was nothing except the memory of last night. I turned away from the kitchen and tucked my feet under me. “I had a strange dream, I guess.” My mom finished folding the blanket and threw it on the opposite end of the couch. “Tell me about it. I made pancakes.” I raised a brow. “So you did intend to wake me up?” She ran her fingers over the front of her blouse, as if to make sure the front she’d so carefully buttoned was still buttoned. “I thought that you’d wake up when I finished.
The smell usually wakes you.” “And when it didn’t you decided to take a more direct approach?” I pretended to yawn to hide my smile. “It’s alright. I just wish you had told me.” My mom leaned against the wall as I sat down to eat. I watched her toy with her shoulder-length hair as I devoured bite after bite of her homemade blueberry pancakes. After I turned 15 I couldn’t look at her without feeling a chill. The only difference between us was the color of our skin. She had my high cheekbones, black hair, dark brown eyes and small, curvy body—or rather I had hers. But those weren’t the things that unnerved me. When I was a little girl I wanted to look exactly like her. I wanted those thin, long hands and subtle, beautiful smile. I’d often sneak into her room and rub her jasmine oil over my skin and slip her silk white nightgowns over my head. And then my brother disappeared and my father died. Her skin became like a crumpled paper bag, and her eyes as lifeless as sand. The
ghost of who she’d been hung over features, and sometimes I caught a glimpse of it when she laughed, or put on the turquoise earrings her own mother gave her, or, in some other way, forgot herself. Those times were rare and almost never happened in this house. She hated it as much as I did, and yet she couldn’t leave because they’d both once lived here. I often wondered if she heard phantom footsteps running down the hallway, or stood in the doorway of my brother’s empty bedroom when I wasn’t around, to look at the toys neither of us had picked up, or the bed we hadn’t made. My mom coughed twice and pointed at my feet. “What?” My voice was muffled—full of pancakes. “Do you want to go shopping later?” She asked. “I think you need new shoes.” “I don’t need new shoes,” I said firmly, or as firmly as one can sound when their mouth was stuffed and their lips were sticky
with maple syrup. “Well, just another pair then. Those are starting to look a little…” I sighed. “They’re fine.” I liked my shoes. They were made of navy blue canvas, went up past my ankles and had a faded star decals on the sides. They looked like the kind of shoes Peter Pan would have worn if he left Neverland and became a pseudopunk. “Okay, okay.” It was an old argument and she knew she wasn’t going to win. She went to the corner of the counter and picked up her purse. “I’m heading off for a bit,” my mom called over my shoulder. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Call if you need anything.” “Yeah,” I said. She gave me a sad smile as she slunk out the door, leaving me alone. I set down my fork, stood and walked over to the island. I ran my fingers over the stainless steel edge. I saw Oz rip that man
apart. I saw his blood splatter on the wall. He’d ripped my mother’s lacy drapes. He’d
stained the entire room red… The counter was cool and smooth. No blood or dirt marred it, just spilled flour. Had last night been a dream? The house creaked. Pancakes…Yes, I definitely had them yesterday with Oz. He couldn’t have been a dream. I dug my phone out of my pocket and searched my contact list. I saw his name. So it hadn’t been a dream, at least not all of it. Although I don’t remember adding his phone number to my contact list—only that his phone number was the same as Morrison’s. So when had reality stopped and the dream begun? My thumb paused on the send key, refused to push it down. Oz told me to trust my instincts, so I would ask them. I shut my eyes and I waited for the pain to come—the headaches, the anything. It didn’t. Nothing came but the smell of pancakes and the warmth of the late morning sun. I pressed the send button and clutched
the phone to my ear. He answered after two rings. “Hey. I was just thinking of you.” All the questions I’d wanted to ask him fled from my mind. I cringed. How did I start this conversation? Hey Oz. Hey guy-I-justmet-and-have-no-idea-what-to-say-to. Had he really just been thinking of me? That was weird. Or maybe it wasn’t. What were guys usually thinking of in the morning? Oh God. No way. Gross. Also totally unexpected and maybe even wonderful. “Hello? Devi, are you there?” I opened my mouth. I knew I should say something. Or at least I thought I should say something. But maybe at this point it would be better to just hang up and pretend that there was a bad connection. Yeah, those happened all the time. So I should just hang up and call him again. But then what would I say? “You’re not reading Sweet Savage Sentiments by any chance, are you? You’re
breathing pretty hard.” “No,” I answered. Damn! I hadn’t meant to say anything. Now he knew that I was just sitting here. Sitting here in silence while he was on the other line. And I’d been the one to call him. “Uh, are you reading anything?” I cringed again. Of course he wasn’t reading anything. We were on the phone. But then again, I was taking so long to say anything to him I guess it wouldn’t be surprising if he picked up something and started reading it. He chuckled. “Are you sure you want to know?” “I don’t know,” I said. Oh God, worst phone conversation ever. I didn’t even know what we were talking about anymore, or if we had even ever been talking about anything. I’d never acted this stupid on the phone with a boy before. Then again, I hadn’t actually talked to that many guys on the phone, but maybe that was a good thing. “Well how about I come pick you up and I can tell you about it.”
“Alright,” I said. “Good. See you in a few.” “Yeah.” I hung up and set the phone down on the table. I took another bite of pancake. It was a bit cooler than it had been about five minutes ago, but other than that nothing had changed. I could almost imagine there had been no conversation on the phone, or at least it would have been possible if he wasn’t going to be here “in a few,” whatever that meant. If he actually was coming here from Morrison’s then it would only be a few minutes. Well, if he had a car. And I was still in the same clothes I wore last night. And I hadn’t even looked at my face in the mirror this morning. Oh God, this was going to be a disaster. I dashed to my bedroom. Okay, I still had a few minutes. Probably. Enough time
to put on a clean shirt at least. But which one should I wear? No time for that, I decided and grabbed a black lacy top, some eyeliner and mascara and got to work. Half of my face was still red and imprinted from sleeping on the coarse couch fabric. Well, that was nice. Mom could have mentioned I looked like Two-Face when she woke me up this morning. Would she have taken me out on the town looking like this? I didn’t want to dwell on the answer to that. My skin had always been pale—pale as in when someone spoke of the possibility of sunshine my skin preemptively burned. I got that from my Nordic dad. Luckily he hadn’t given me his red nose. I pressed my finger to my cheek. The imprint was fading, just not fast enough for my taste. I brushed my black hair and drew a black line around my chestnut eyes. I kinda looked like a wanna-be Goth chick, or an unfortunate Persian girl in a Gothic romance who was wasting away from Tuberculosis. But that was alright. Oz had mentioned he wasn’t human. He was probably into that sort
of thing. The doorbell rang. I dropped everything and ran down the hall in my socks. The moment my hand made contact with the metal doorknob I received an electric shock for my efforts. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Oz stood with his hands in the pockets of his faded, loose-fitting jeans. He wore the same jacket as last night but a different black shirt. “Hi,” he said when I didn’t say anything. He looked good in the daylight. His eyes were an even more brilliant green than I remembered—like the first growth of spring. Just the sight of them made me feel warm and forget about the autumn chill. He sniffed the air in a motion reminiscent of how the witch from Bewitched wrinkled her nose. It looked cute and somewhat ridiculous on a guy’s face. “Pancakes? Again?”
“Yep,” I replied, somewhat breathless. So the pancakes hadn’t been a dream. Good. That had been my favorite part. Although I had to admit that chopping up a guy on my mom’s counter wasn’t exactly stiff competition. “I guess I took you to the right place yesterday,” Oz replied. “Yeah. It was fun.” Fun. Great one, Devi. I felt like knocking my head against the wall. I sounded like I was on a really lame Saturday morning cartoon. “How are you?” He asked. I looked into his face. It was suddenly serious, and suddenly all of the questions I had about last night came racing back to my head. Had he really said he wasn’t human? Had he ripped out some guy’s chest on my mother’s now-clean kitchen counter? When did reality end and the dream begin? “I had a really weird dream last night,” I began, and watched his face for some response. “Yeah?” He said. He leaned closer,
propped his hand against the wall. His face was really close to mine and I could smell his breath, fresh and minty, and hoped my pancake breath smelled nice. “It was…” You were a demon. Some guy tried to make a deal with me. Both of you fought, the stranger began to rot, and I learned that I don’t have a spirit, whatever that means. But I could bring myself to say it. “When you told me you weren’t human yesterday, were you joking around?” Oz shifted on his feat. “Do you want me to lie to you?” “Maybe,” I whispered. He stepped closer. “If I do are you going to do something stupid like offer up your soul the next time someone comes around telling you that they know where your brother is?” My hand closed around his wrist. “Do you know anything about him?” I asked, unable to keep the high-pitched desperation from my voice. “I don’t personally, but I could help you
find out.” He looked at me again. “Do you really want to do this Devi?” “What do you mean by “this’?” “You know what I mean,” he continued. “Enter the world you saw last night.” My body went cold. It hadn’t been a dream. No, it couldn’t have not been a dream. But here he was, telling me with every fiber of his being that it was real, and my heart knew it was true. “Don’t lie to me,” I said. He sighed. “I thought you would say that.” “Then, what happened?” He bit his lip. “I think you know. You saw me tear apart a devil and put him back together. You found out I was a demon. And that you are a human who doesn’t have a spirit.” A devil? Is that what that man had been? What was the difference between a demon and a devil? Should I even ask? My tongue flicked against my bottom lip. “The
house looks fine,” I replied timidly. “Well, Forneus and I cleaned up after I patched him up. You were sleeping, and…I didn’t want to disturb you.” His fingers brushed against mine. I snatched them. “That’s a lot to take in at once,” I said. “Yeah.” He gave me another smile that didn’t quiet reach his eyes. “Let’s go finish those pancakes.” “So demons do like pancakes.” I grinned—or tried to grin. The corners of my eyes felt glassy. Tears? Was I really crying? I don’t even know where they came from or why they were there. “You know, that really makes my day,” I finished in an even voice. He gave my hand a squeeze and we sat down. Oz put about two tablespoons of butter on his pancakes and drizzled maple syrup on them. “You know, I can either eat pancakes with butter or with real maple syrup, but not with both,” I told him.
“That’s really fascinating, Devi.” “Hey, don’t patronize me,” I said. He chuckled. “I’m not. I just didn’t realize you had such bad taste.” “It really is better,” I told him. He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah? How long have you been eating pancakes?” “Since I was like, four or something,” I replied, squinting. “You know, pretty much as long as I can remember.” He placed his wrist flamboyantly over his heart. “Well I’ve been eating them for centuries,” he said in perfect British accent. I slumped in my chair. “I have a feeling I’m never going to win an argument when you’re around.” “Hey, don’t say that. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m right.” He winked at me and I started to giggle. He didn’t seem so old to me right now. Just really happy and nice. Come to think of it, he didn’t seem like a demon either. He just seemed like Oz.
Funny how I could feel like I knew him this well after knowing him for such a short time.
That’s because you don’t know him, a small voice inside me said. I fidgeted in my seat, squishing it. “You know why I called you today?” He swallowed his bite before answering. “Why?” “Yesterday you told me to always trust my instincts, and today when I picked up the phone, I didn’t feel anything bad at all. I was just…happy I guess.” Oz suddenly looked very guilty. “About that. Um, that’s because I marked you last night.” My smile froze on my cheeks, making my face ache. “What?” He suddenly found the half-eaten pancakes on his plate fascinating. “While you were sleeping on the couch, I rolled you over and…” The blood left my face. “What exactly does marking someone entail?”
“Nothing so bad. I just bit your back.” “You bit me?” “Yeah. I injected some venom into your bloodstream that would make you feel better around me. I like holding your hand but I didn’t think it was very practical.” I lifted my shirt, pulled down my pants, and almost fell over. My lower back looked…it looked…”You gave me a festering tramp stamp?” I shrieked. “You don’t think it’s cute?” Did he actually think this was funny? “No. It’s really disgusting. I mean…” I buried my face in my hands and cringed. “How long is it going to be there?” I could hear him shuffling around on his chair. “A few days.” I raised my head from my hands and glowered. “So my instincts would be telling me to run away if they could right now.” Hell, not just my instincts. My mind, my sense of aesthetics, and my regard for basic hygiene, were all telling me to get out of there
immediately. He rubbed his hands together. “When I said it was your instincts last night it was only because I didn’t know how to explain it to you. I didn’t want you to think I was even stranger…”
So you bit me? My heart was thumping so loud I could barely hear myself speak. “What is it, then?” He swallowed. “It’s your angel.” Angel? It took a moment for the words to sink in. Did he really mean an angel with white feathers and a golden halo? Is that why Forneus had looked over my shoulder and asked me if I thought we were alone? Last night at Dixie’s, had he been talking about an angel when he asked about…”My baggage,” I whispered. “Yes. I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise to you, but your angel doesn’t like me very much.” I shivered. “Did the angel cause my headaches?”
Oz sucked in a breath and nodded. The world spun, though not from my heavenly “protector.” Try not to be angry , I told myself. If I didn’t stop breathing so fast I was going to pass out. “Couldn’t he give me this information in a different way?” “He could, but it would entail revealing himself, which he is surprisingly reluctant to do.” I slammed my fist into the table, rattling the forks and plates, and flipping a bit of pancake on my wrist. “Why does he let you in here now, even though he doesn’t like you? Why did he let you bite me?” Oz slipped his hand over my fist. “I’m tolerated at the moment because I’ve been deemed slightly helpful, or at least harmless. Like I said, he doesn’t want to manifest on this plane.”
Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. “Why?” I asked as I shut my eyes. Oz’s voice was as comforting as a bite of pancake. “He’s probably under orders to just watch unless your life is in danger.
Angels follow their orders to the letter.” “Sounds like a pain in the ass,” I said, then winced. Poor choice of words, Devi! I opened my eyes and met his thoughtful gaze. “Most definitely,” he said. “But I was thinking he might help us find your brother.”
Chapter 6 Goosebumps spread over my skin like wildfire. “Do you really think this will work?” I asked for about the hundredth time. Oz’s face relaxed, making him look sensitive, young, and a bit nervous. “The angel doesn’t like it when I get close to you,” he whispered as he scooted closer. “I’m not sure if it will work or not, but if you’re up for it it’s worth a try.” My pulse skyrocketed. Did he have to be so cute when he asked that? This was kind of a big deal for me, and it didn’t seem like a big deal for him, or at least I couldn’t imagine something as innocent as a kiss carrying much significance to a creature that had been around for…a long time. Plus we were doing this because it might bring out my angel, not because he wanted to. And I really wanted to, so much so that I wanted to jump up and start running circles around the couch. How kissing and running around crazily were connected, I did not
know, just that every part of me was tight, antsy, buzzing. I swallowed and looked at his lips. They were thin and smooth. Mine were chapped. He would probably think they were too rough. Wait, what was I saying? Too rough for a demon? What was wrong with me? I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember everything that I’d learned from my previous kisses, which unfortunately wasn’t very much.
Sorry Oz, I thought. I really have no idea what I’m doing. But maybe it didn’t have to be all that great. This kiss wasn’t really about him and me. He’d made it perfectly clear that this was for my brother. I puckered up, grabbed his shirt, shut my eyes, and drew him near. “Just think of Kai,” I whispered. Oz put his hands on my shoulders, stopping me. “Uh, Devi? Who is Kai?” My eyes fluttered open. My heart was in my throat, beating so fast that I could barely make a sound. God his eyes were beautiful,
especially when they looked only at me. “My brother,” I croaked. Oz held me at arms length for a moment. Something flickered in those perfect green eyes. Then he looked away and sighed. “I can’t do this.” My breath became deep, erratic. “Why not? We need to get the angel out here. This might work—” He shook his head and answered softly: “No, I mean I can’t kiss you while you think about your brother.” My grip on his shirt loosened. It did sound bad when he phrased it like that. “But isn’t that why we’re kissing in the first place?” I asked. “Yeah.” He stood up and raked his hand through his hair. “I need a drink.” He lumbered to the kitchen and opened the cabinets under the sink. Then he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and grabbed a cleanlooking glass on the counter. He downed it in one gulp without making a face, which I thought was pretty impressive.
“Is knowing where to find the booze one of your demon powers?” I asked. “No,” he responded without looking at me. “Forneus needed something to take the edge off after what happened last night.” He shuffled back to the couch and sat. “Your breath smells like alcohol,” I murmured. He smiled grimly. “And you don’t find it romantic.” I had to giggle. “Not really.” He rested his arm on the pillow behind my back and leaned in. “Well, just grit your teeth and think of Kai.” I brought my heel down on his shin, hard. “What’s wrong with you?” He sighed. “What do you mean?” The cotton fabric on the couch suddenly felt rough and wet beneath my palms. “You know what I mean. The way you said that made it sound really creepy.” He pushed himself away and rubbed
the stubble on his chin. “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I just—I don’t know. It was stupid idea, especially since I started liking it for all the wrong reasons after I blurted it out.” My cheeks grew hot for some reason. I put my hands in my lap and started chipping what was left of my black nail polish off my nails. My hands looked like little girl hands against my bright blue jeans. “I’m not used to this sort of thing, you know. I have this awful feeling in my stomach, and I’m lightheaded —like I’m having a seizure but I kind of like it.” Oz brushed his hand over my cheek. “Have you ever kissed someone before?” “Yeah. It wasn’t like this, though. The first time was in 8th grade while playing spin the bottle. The bottle landed on Dan, and he immediately began squealing and making disgusted faces because I was just so weird and gross.” Oz’s mouth fell open. “Jesus, Devi. I’m sorry…” I started picking at my nail polish with a
vengeance. “That’s not even all of it. Everyone was chanting: “Kiss her! You have to kiss her!’ And I got so mad at him, at everyone in the room laughing at me. So I slide across the floor and grabbed the back of his head and smashed our faces together so hard that we both got bloody noses.” Oz paled a bit. “Yeah. That was the end of spin-thebottle for everyone that night.” There was a long pause. “Did it hurt?” “A little bit. He cried, though, which made me feel good.” I looked down to hide a smile. “I don’t know if that makes me a bad person or not.” “I wouldn’t fault you for that. Look at who you’re asking,” he replied. I looked over at him, let him see the grin across my lips. “Then there was Joe.” “Uh-oh. There’s more?” “Yeah. You asked so you’re getting my entire sordid history.”
“I don’t remember asking.” My shoulders drooped. “Well, I thought you did so you get to hear it anyway. He planted a sloppy, beer-flavored one on me as I passed through the door of his house without warning…after which I immediately ran to the bathroom to swish out my mouth with half a bottle of Listerine for twenty minutes.” “That one you probably could have done without.” He looked a little guilty, then. “Did my booze breath remind you of him?” I didn’t have to think about my answer. “No.” “Then there was my most recent kiss. It was from a kid from some other school who I started kissing because Kim had invited him over just for me, and I figured that I was at the age where I should start kissing occasionally at least.” I shut my eyes as my lips began to tremble. “But then he put his hand down my shirt and I started laughing because it tickled.” I could feel the heat rushing to my face. It must be red now, especially since I was having such a difficult
time holding in my laughter. “I didn’t know you were ticklish,” he said. “I am but don’t even try what you’re thinking about right now! If you do I will kick you accidentally just like I kicked him.” Oz jolted back. “You kicked him?” “Yes,” I whispered, giggling, and wondered why I found it so funny at the moment. “After that Kim never invited me to another co-ed party at her place again, and I didn’t learn anything more about kissing.” Oz leaned back with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’m glad you kicked him, Devi,” he said in an incredibly serious tone. “You should kick any guy who tries to kiss you.” “Even you?” I asked. He rubbed his leg with a goofy smile. Oh God, I’d just kicked him, hadn’t I? “If you just had to I could take it, I think,” he said. He brushed his thumb over my lips. My mouth opened slightly, and I could taste
the salt from his skin. I looked into his eyes, again. They were so green. I really could melt into them if I let myself go. His eyes grew a little darker. The rhythm of his breathing sped up, too. Yes, I thought. He’s going to. “Earlier today you asked me if I was reading,” he said. The response was so different from what I’d been expecting that I almost didn’t say anything. “Yeah.” Yeah? No, that’s not
what I meant! “Well, do you still want to know what it was?”
I don’t know? Why are you talking about this? Don’t you want to… “Um, sure.” I babbled, hoping I was coherent. “I’d like to show you, if you wouldn’t mind heading back to Morrison’s.” “Okay,” I whispered. “Just a minute.” I walked to the kitchen in a daze and wrote my mom a quick note telling her that I was at Morrison’s. I felt a pang of guilt. It was true,
but my mom wouldn’t suspect I’d be out with a guy. I put on my coat, decided not to think about it, and followed Oz outside. “You drive a Volvo?” He smiled. “Yeah. You don’t like it?” “No, that’s not it. I just thought that a demon from Hell would have a hotter ride.”
You know, not the same car my science teacher drives. “Oh, this ride is plenty hot,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Or, at least it won’t break down while I’m out on the road with a pretty girl.” I opened the passenger door and slipped inside. “So you think utility is sexy?” “With machinery it sure is. Anything extra is just unnecessary.” He looked over at me. “Don’t forget your seatbelt.” Wow. He even worried about things like that. “What kind of car does Forneus drive?” I asked as he turned the key in the ignition. “Which one?” Oz rolled his eyes. “That guy is ridiculous.”
Morrison’s really was only a couple minutes away. We parked in a narrow alley behind the building and went in through the back. “Hey Princess,” Oz cooed as that orange and gray cat rubbed herself against his legs. Then she noticed me, and began swooping through my legs in a figure eight motion. “Oz, if I move I think I’ll step on her.” “You’re such a softy,” he said affectionately and picked up Princess. Princess hissed and began to wiggle around in his arms. “Settle down lovely. You’d think I was carting you off to the vet! You can sit on Devi all you want in just a few minutes.” I sat down again on the same faded, dusty couch I’d woken up on the night before, and Oz dropped Princess unceremoniously on my lap. “She’s all yours,” Oz groaned. Immediately the cat began to knead, purr and walk back and forth on my knees, waving her tail in my face. Oz took the armchair in front of me. “Are
you still worried about not having a spirit?” I hadn’t thought Oz was in the mood for answering serious questions. “Yes,” I replied finally. “You know,” he continued softly, “animals don’t have spirits. Only humans do. Do you think Princess is an evil creature?” Princess’ eyes rolled to the back of her head as I scratched her chin. She was on her back, with her legs stretched outward and little paws kneading the air. Her mouth opened slightly, exposing her delicate canines, and she licked my fingertips purring like a motor boat. I smiled. “No.” “When Princess dies she will go into the earth, and no part of her identity will exist beyond that point,” he said softly. “That is what it means to have no spirit.” “Why doesn’t she have a spirit?” I asked. “Because animals weren’t made in His image. They were never supposed to
understand or worship his creation, they were only meant to be a part of it.” My throat closed. “So like me, they aren’t immortal.” “You’re not immortal, Devi. But you have to realize that even if you had a spirit and a part of you lasted forever, it wouldn’t really be you. It’s not composed of your body, and so it would not feel the sensations of your body. All the things that make you you are your experiences in this life—your passions, your feelings, these beautiful, transitory moments—won’t last after death. A spirit loses its ability to act in and experience the world the moment it returns to God.” Such a fate seemed empty to me, and yet that unsettling sensation in my stomach lingered. The cat rubbed her nose on my hand. I’d stopped petting her, I realized. “I’m not really like Princess,” I whispered. “I’m aware that I will to die.” The cat’s heat-butting became more insistent, and I started to pet her again. “Since my brother disappeared I’ve felt different from
everyone else, like I was missing something essential. I now know the reason—I have no spirit—but I still don’t belong anywhere, do I? If I abandoned the human would I would still feel like an outsider.” Oz lit a stick of incense. Sandalwood smoke filled the air. “It was cruel of Him to give self-awareness to a human without granting him a spirit, just as it was cruel of Him to make an angel, a being of pure spirit, yearn for earth.” “Do you have a soul, Oz?” I recognized the cruelty of the question the moment it left my lips. Oz’s eyes clouded over with an expression that was impenetrable to me. I felt like I would have had an easier time trying to discern the emotions of a rock, or a storm. At least those things possessed an element that was temporal. “I can feel, if that is what you mean,” he whispered. “And I can taste, and I can recognize beauty, and I am moved by it. But though I can impose my will upon those things, they don’t change me in return. I’ve watched everything I’ve ever loved die, and it
has made me wonder if any part of me was ever truly alive to begin with.” The edge of the left side of his mouth curled up. “It kind of makes me feel like a voyeur.” “Don’t say that,” I said quickly. Oz turned to look at me with eyes green as wet moss. “I’ve vicariously experienced sensations of suffering and passion through beings such as yourself since my birth.” Specs of dust hit a sunbeam from the skylight above and glittered. I inhaled sharply and my mouth filled with the taste of ash. “What do you mean?” He knelt before the space where I sat but made no move to touch me. “All demons were once guardians of Eden,” he said. “And we, perhaps, betrayed God even more than the devils who openly rebelled against him in their quest to attain his absolute power. The Bible calls our sin lust, because we fell in love with God’s creation. In the end our love for it surpassed our love for God.” He reached up and caught a strand of hair. Slowly he wound it between his fingers before releasing it to cup my face. “You are
everything I longed for when I watched the seasons pass behind the bars of those white gates.” My eyes drifted shut and I rubbed my cheek into his palm. It was still rough and warm. “That doesn’t sound like such a horrible sin.” “You would say that.” His voice was soft, and somehow I could tell that he was smiling. “What of devils, then?” I whispered into his skin. “What did they do to deserve God’s wrath.” Oz brought his other hand to my cheek. “Remember when I said that all spirits merge with God after death, and lose their identity? Well, some angels and men are haunted by this. They want to preserve their autonomy infinitely instead of becoming absorbed by God’s consciousness. Or, in other words, become Gods in their own right.” My eyes flew open. “Has anyone ever achieved such a thing?”
He paused for a moment. “No. The devils are still trying. They’ve been at it for a long time, and most are even more intolerable than Forneus. Some humans have tried to usurp God’s power as well, usually by making a pact with a devil—it never ends well for them.” I wiped my palm against my jeans. Princess eyes rolled to the back of her head with pleasure, and she was slobbering all over my poor, toiling hands. “If you overthrew God you could make the world in your image, couldn’t you? You could free yourself and prevent him from hurting the things you love.” He paused. “If I became like God I wouldn’t have any semblance of life. I’d have to enslave something in this world or the one I created in order to act in it.” He opened his hand, stretched out his fingers, and gazed into his palm. “God is emptiness, stretching on forever without purpose or respite. The beings he carved from his consciousness— we angels, who are so close to God—must experience time as an endless series of
fragments instead of a single breath as he does.” He slipped a finger between my lips, opened my mouth. He was so close. The scent of him filled the air between us, suddenly heavy and hot. “It is amazing,” he murmured, “just to watch you breathe. I long to know what it feels like to be so embedded in this world that I need to take a part of it into my body to survive.” I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The sight of his eyes framed by black hair and set against pale skin overwhelmed me. Longing did not even begin to describe the dark, blissful, almost-painful feeling that rose within me. It was as if I was truly melting into him. “Does it ever make you hate us?” I whispered when he made no move to come closer, to satiate my silent need. He inhaled sharply. “No. Though there are moments I wish it did.”
Kiss me, I thought as every inch of my body buzzed with anticipation. Now.
Something cool fell across my face like a veil. His shadow. I knew it was. He was so close. I could feel his breath on my skin. And then nothing. “Sorry, I still haven’t shown you what I was reading, have I?” He laughed nervously. What? What was he talking about? The book. Oh, right. That inane phone conversation came back to haunt me. I couldn’t believe he was talking about reading at a time like this. My eyes flew open. Oz was already standing with his hands planted firmly in his pockets. He looked fine. On the other hand, I couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Still I somehow managed to nod, or at least I think I did. “One moment.” He leaned back and pulled a book out from under the counter. I shifted in the seat and the Princess groaned. She stretched out her arms and glared at me with one open eye. Oh my. The cat had fallen asleep on me while I was thinking about kissing Oz. I’d completely
forgotten about her. “Here it is, First Love,” he said, saving me from having to dwell on that any longer: “I ne’er was struck before that hour, With love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower, And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale. My legs refused to walk away. And when she looked, what could I ail? My life and all seemed turned to clay. “And then my blood rushed to my face, And took my eyesight quite away. The trees and bushes round the place, Seemed midnight at noonday. I could not see a single thing, Words from my eyes did start, They spoke as chords do from the string, And blood burnt round my heart. “Are flowers the winter’s choice? Is love’s bed always snow? She seemed to hear my silent voice, Not love’s appeals to know. I never saw so sweet a face As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place And can return no more.” I couldn’t speak. Specs of dust still sifted through the air, though now a deeper, richer shade of gold from an almost-setting sun. I’d stopped petting the cat, but she purred rhythmically against my thigh, unaware of my neglect. “Do you really see me like that?” I asked finally. He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” “But you barely know me—” “Do you think the narrator knew the woman in the poem that well?” He interrupted. “No, but it’s a poem,” I told him. “Do you really think you need to know someone well in order to have intense feelings about them?” His lips toyed with the idea of smiling. He was daring me to say yes. I didn’t say anything.
Oz closed the volume of John Clare’s poems and rubbed his thumbs together in his lap. “You barely know me. Based on the few things you do know about me you would run away if you were thinking reasonably. Yet you’re still here.” His voice dropped. He looked down at his intertwined hands. “Does it really surprise you to discover that I am the same?” “It doesn’t make sense to compare us. I’m a temperamental teenage girl, remember? And you’re…” I stopped. I didn’t want to think about what he was. How old he was. “You’re a demon,” I finished. “You could hurt me.” That last sentence hung in the air for a second before he answered. “And you don’t think that you can hurt me?” I cough-laughed. I couldn’t help myself. The idea was just too ridiculous. Princess flapped one of her ears and glared at me again. Sorry, I thought, and then ignored the cat. “Come on. You can’t be serious. Last night I saw you rip apart some guy I couldn’t even lift a finger against.”
He looked down. I couldn’t see his eyes but could infer their expression based on his slow, painful smile. A string wound itself around my chest. Every detail in the room overwhelmed me— from the upturned corner of the rug in the far left corner, to the wooden block that was wedged between the front right leg of his chair and the floor to keep it even. And with a deeper, searing pain I realized that for the first time since we’d begun this conversation that I was truly seeing Oz. The uncertain way the edges of his mouth moved when he breathed. The purple shadows beneath his eyes. The subtle fidgeting of index and forefinger on his right hand. “You really think I could hurt you,” I whispered. He moved his head to the side, as if fearful that he’d revealed too much under my scrutiny. “Don’t worry about it now.” “How can I not?” My voice was too highpitched. Too young. But I couldn’t quiet the hysteria that rose in my throat.
“Because I asked you not to.”
That was his response? I tried to breathe evenly. “You do realize that your reassurances never actually reassure me, don’t you?” He leaned back. “I’ll have to work on that as well, then.” Oz placed the book back beneath the counter as if it were some long-forgotten treasure that he alone valued. His hand lingered over the cover after he placed it on the shelf, then trailed over the cover of another book before he brought it back to his lap. My pulse raced and I clenched my jaw shut. Something about the way he treated the books and the things he’d just revealed to me irritated me. No, that wasn’t right. What really irritated me was the dread that grew as silently as ivy inside of me. Why did a demon care so much for these artifacts? Why did he find meaning in the hidden passions and fleeting moments of brilliance preserved on a page? For a human it was obvious. Our days were numbered, and many of us needed stories
to infuse our lives with meaning. But a demon must have seen every drama within these volumes played out again and again in hundreds of different forms for countless years. No philosophy or idea would seem new to him. So why did he surround himself with them? The words he’d just spoken echoed in my mind: I’ve watched everything I’ve ever
loved die, and it has made me wonder if any part of me was ever truly alive to begin with. The constricting vine that held my chest unwound, replaced by a tenderness that was equally painful. Was this world he loved as distant as book to him because he existed outside of time? “What are you thinking about so intently, Devi?”
How alone you are. I wish I could fill you. “It’s starting to get late,” I said instead, and it was. The windows were now pitch black. “What are you doing tomorrow?” He
asked. “Going to church, then meeting one of my friends for lunch.” “Sounds like a busy day.” “Yeah.” I looked down at the beautiful, sleeping Princess. She was going to be so pissed when I got up. “I wish I could be here, though.” “If you want you can help me out around here.” I didn’t even bother to hide my smile. “Really?” “Yes. You can start Monday.” “I suppose I could drop by here after 5,” I told him coyly. He raised a brow. “You only want to work part time?” “Yeah, until summer at least. I have school, you know.” Oz went completely still. “I forgot you did that,” he mumbled, as if it was an outrageous hindrance to him instead of a
moderate pain-in-the-ass for me. “Devi, I’m not so sure you should really be going to school anymore.” I felt like I’d just been dropped on the floor. Like he’d told me that I couldn’t say the word “and” or brush my teeth anymore. “What are you talking about?” “Forneus won’t do or say anything, but others might.” He rested his chin upon his fist. “I don’t have a very friendly relationship with most devils, so I doubt they’d stay away from you if I asked.” Oz considered ripping a guy to shreds a friendly relationship? “Well, I have my angel—” “Yes, let’s place our faith in that sparkling ‘Frisbee’ because he’s done so much to help you already.” “The angel is still—” “He’s useless,” Oz spat. “He let me carry you into my shop and he left you alone with Forneus.“ Oz narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even know what level of angel he is, or if he could even help you if he wanted to. Until he
materializes he’s useless.” Oz shut his eyes. “Probably would be useless even if he did materialize,” he grumbled. “None of that matters. I have to go to school. This is my last year and if I quit now I’ll have to either retake my senior year or get a GED.” I raised my finger. “ And I’m not willing to do either because it would make the three years I’ve suffered completely meaningless.” Oz closed his eyes and grit his teeth. For a few minutes I thought he wouldn’t say anything at all, just haul me over his shoulder and lock me in the back room. I hugged Princess for protection. Claws, Princess!
Start hissing! I’ve pet you for hours, now protect me! But she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Groggily, she licked my chin and began to purr into my neck, as if I’d clung to her for dear life simply for her own benefit. “Fine,” he growled, as if he’d had a choice in the matter. And then, in an equally intense and frightening tone: “When do you graduate?”
“In June.” “That long?” He gave me a look that was so sad, so filled with longing, and so incredibly over the top for this situation that I would have laughed if he wasn’t so obviously sincere. “I guess that’s doable. Do you really have to go?” “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I’m thrilled about this either.” I sighed. “But yes, I really have to go.” He finished putting a stack of books on the shelf and looked out the dark window grimly. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” We didn’t say anything on the drive back to my house. His depression didn’t make any sense to me. Of course I had to go to school. I wasn’t even 18 yet. But then again he was lonely. I couldn’t forget the books stacked to the ceiling, the way he’d touched them, the way he’d looked when he told me that he didn’t feel like he’d ever been a part of this world… I glanced over at him. He stoically watched the road, and his lips were just
barely moving. I wondered if he was saying something under his breath and wished I could hear it. Again I wished I could give him what he’d longed for. And, I realized, some selfish part of me wanted to be the only thing that could give that peace to him. He pulled up next to the curb. “Be safe, Devi.” He reached over and squeezed my hand. I wanted him to do more, but I wasn’t sure how to ask for it or exactly what it even was. “You can come in if you want, you know. My mom works nights, so she won’t be home for a while.” He looked away from me—at the winding, suburban road ahead. I could see his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea just yet.” I swallowed. We could try to get my angel to come out again, I thought, but didn’t say anything. “Okay,” I replied finally and slipped out of the car. He didn’t drive away until I’d gone inside and locked the door.
Chapter 7 I hadn’t been to church in over four months. Not much had changed since then. Then again, not much had changed in the past seven years. If for some reason I decided to walk past the Gothic iron gates and up the cobblestone steps long after I’d left my mother’s home, I’d probably still receive those pitying looks, thinly veiled with condescension. Yes, my father committed suicide. Yes, it was a sin. Yes, God was compassionate and would forgive him—or, if he was vengeful, he would not. Yes, thank you for reminding me not to worry about that last possibility because it would reflect poorly on my own spirit. Then again, it was unnecessary for me to reflect on something I did not have. I wondered how the aging women in kneelength woolen skirts would have replied if I’d told them it was me who was damned, not my father.
I leaned back into the unforgiving, stiff pew as the preacher spoke of an eternity I would never partake in, and a heavenly beauty I would never witness. I folded my hands and touched them to my lips. At least my father, who had been born in this world yet carried God’s grace, would see such things. Unless, of course, he was like me. No, I couldn’t think like that. Oz and Forneus told me that I was the first person made without a spirit in eons. The eternal part of my father had merged with God, as it should be. He would have loved to dissolve into divine perfection. It would have been too cruel for God to deny him that. I closed my eyes and the preacher’s voice became increasingly distant. In this dark, private world it was difficult for me to imagine a light beside me, but I knew there was. How does it feel to be in a place like this? I asked the angel silently. I wondered if he found the light filtering through the stained glass windows beautiful—if the monuments and icons we’d built to glorify his creator touched some part of him. No, more likely
these symbols paled so greatly in comparison to the world he’d come from that they could not affect him. I glanced at the cross hanging above the altar and wondered if my angel was as entranced by it as my brother had been. I never understood why the image moved my brother so much. He never cried in movies, and didn’t even call out when bullies hit him. But the first time he saw a statue of the crucifixion tears streamed down his cheeks. Look at how perfect he is, my brother had whispered. In that moment a distance that was almost tangible formed between us. I began to weep, too, but only partially for the pain the messiah had to endure unjustly. It was mostly because I realized that there was something holy about my brother that I would never understand. My brother picked up on my distress immediately though I hadn’t said a word, just as he always did. Yes Devi, it hurt too . And in my heart I heard different words he hadn’t spoken: it hurts to be that perfect in this world. At that moment a terror took hold of
me—a premonition, perhaps, that we would one day be separated. But never had I thought he would simply disappear. I opened my eyes. The preacher droned on still. Angel, I thought again, do you long
for home? Does it hurt you to be so beautiful in this world? Does my spiritless existence sicken you? No response. And then people were standing for a hymn, and my mother tugged on my shoulder. I rose and began to sing in a soft, trembling voice about the salvation I would never receive. *** Though our church attendance was sketchy, mom and I never missed our other Sunday morning ritual—Dim Sum in Chinatown with my best friend Kim and her mom. They’d left Vietnam for America when I was in 6th grade. Back then Kim couldn’t speak a word of English, and I’d refused to talk to anyone after my brother’s disappearance. We’d become fast friends,
or rather, we’d both been relegated to that lunch table no one else wanted to sit at in middle school. A tall Chinese woman parked a metal cart in front of us. Hearty steam rose from the stacked metal containers, and she pulled the top off one of rack and set it on the table. “You want chicken feet.” “No,” we blurted out in a chorus. The waitresses here never asked if we wanted something—instead they told us we wanted it and waited for us to disagree. “Do you have pork shumai?” I asked. “Coming,” she told us. “You want bean cake.” Turns out we were able to live without that as well. In the end we ordered the usual —p o rk shumai, steamed hum bow, pot stickers and baby bok choy smothered in oyster sauce. “We’re going shoe shopping after this,” my mom gloated. “Oh!” Kim’s mom shrieked. Both of
them turned to me with rosy cheeks and began to talk about my hypothetical new shoes as if they were wedding dresses. Wait, scratch that. I doubted either one would think me marrying at 17 was a grand idea. Maybe I should ask my mom to go
shopping for wedding dresses next time she tries to take me out. But I wasn’t that mean. “It’s just shoes,” I groaned. Shoes I did not need, because the ones I was wearing were just fine. “You need new shoes. Those ones are old,” Kim’s mom told me.
Thanks Ms. Lai. “Yeah, but that’s part of what makes them so cool,” I told her. “Those are not cool.” Kim said as she pressed a chop stick against the center of her plump lips. She’d painted them with cherry lip gloss today. She’d drawn a Smokey outline around her eyes, too, and had even gone to the effort to curl her eyelashes. What was going on? She usually didn’t wear this much make-up, especially at this
hour. With her bronzed skin, smooth, heartshaped face and wide eyes, she was pretty without all that. Then again, I wasn’t exactly an impartial judge. When she dolled herself up she seemed like a different person entirely, and it made me feel like we were strangers. “Devi.” Kim’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I suppressed a shudder, one part envy and one part apprehension. “I’m embarrassed to be seen with you in them.” Right. We were still discussing the thrilling topic of my shoes. Oh Kim, I thought. That is part of their charm. “New shoes hurt your feet.” “Old ones hurt your feet more— especially once you’ve worn holes through the fronts of them,” she responded. “No. You did that?” Kim’s mom gasped. She sucked her cheeks into her face and opened her mouth slightly. “Not yet,” I lied. Kim kicked me under the table, and I glared at her while making my most
inconspicuous “shh face.” Kim giggled as she squeezed well over a tablespoon of Siracha onto her plate and started mixing it with Soy Sauce. “Man, that’s gross,” I told her. “You do realize that you’re the only one at the table who isn’t using any, don’t you?” It was true. Our mothers eagerly mixed the two substances together. I stabbed a potsticker with a chopstick and bobbed it up and down at her. “It still smells disgusting.” Kim rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” It was Kim’s favorite come-back, if you could even call it that. “You should start using some of those SAT words you spend all your time memorizing to express your disappointment.” “And you need to start studying for them, period,” she retorted. I had no response. I did need to start studying. I actually needed to start doing a whole lot of stuff, like seriously consider which college I should go to, or if I should
even bother going at all. “I don’t need to memorize SAT words. I already know them all from my old school romance novels.” “That’s a stupid excuse.” “It’s true,” I replied. “Without them I wouldn’t know what a manroot was.” Kim smirked. “Sounds like an excrescence.” My elbows slammed on the table and a potsticker fell out of my mouth and onto my plate with a plop. “Cute,” Kim said. I couldn’t stop laughing. “Would you believe me if I told you that a phallus was actually described as one once?” Kim continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “The verbal section is just one part of the test, you know. Math, your favorite subject, is the other.” She had me there. I would be extremely lucky if I scored 400. “Aww, are you worried about me?”
She looked down. “Maybe a little bit,” she admitted. “Then you should come over tonight to help me study.” “That doesn’t sound very exciting,” Kim said as she ripped off the top of her hum bow and dunked it in the Siracha. It looked like a bleeding cloud. “Then we’ll just watch some bad movies,” I said, which was what we would have ended up doing anyway. “ Heaven’s Asylum arrived in my mailbox just before we left for church.” Kim shook her head. “Can’t. I’m busy tonight.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Something was definitely up. “What are you doing?” I asked hesitantly. Kim sighed. “You know what I’m doing. I’m going to Eric’s party.” I looked down and swirled my chopstick in the oyster sauce. “Is James gonna be there?”
Kim turned her head sharply. Her long, silky black hair flipped over her shoulder. “Why would I know? Or care?”
I wish you didn’t, I thought, but instead of saying anything I spun my chopsticks around my plate. If I had the right words she’d stay home with me instead of going to the party. It would be lame but safe. I couldn’t really do much more than tag along with her and glare at James when he came up to talk to her, and then refuse to leave when he asked me to. And finally cling to Kim’s arm as she screamed at me to mind my own business. I didn’t mind it when people started calling me a freak for interfering so much. It was easy for me to be the bad guy because I didn’t have many friends, and I really didn’t care what anyone thought of me other than Kim. That was why I couldn’t stand it when she’d told me that she hated me that night. That I was pathetic. That I was ruining her life. I needed to stop listening to her when she drank. It hadn’t been the worst moment
of her life, as she’d so tenderly shrieked at me. It had, however, been one of the worst moments of mine—almost as bad as the morning after. I looked up at her, and she was giving m e the look. The one that said, don’t-youdare-make-a-scene-in-front-of-my-mom. I sighed. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at school, then.” “Yeah, I’ll tell you how the party was.”
Great. Can’t wait. Interesting how she didn’t invite me to come along. I prevented a creepy, grim smile from curling my lips and didn’t bother telling her to have fun. Instead I said, “Love is stupid.” Her mother looked at her watch and sucked in a breath. “We need to go. Come on Kimberly.” Kim’s mom always struggled when she said her daughter’s full name. I thought it was strange that Ms. Lai had chosen it since she couldn’t pronounce properly, but then again my mom had done the same thing. Luckily mom rarely called me Devi in public.
Kim’s mom buttoned up her pea coat and waved goodbye. “Have fun picking out shoes.” “Thanks.” I tried to keep the resentment out of my voice. “You have a great day.” “You too.” She smiled. Outside it poured. It would probably be a cloudy, miserable night without a single visible star in the sky. Then again, it wasn’t like any of us would be looking for any. Kim got up and put on her white downfeathered coat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, as she pulled the faux-fur rimmed hood over her head. I had to look down. An anger rose in my stomach that no amount of pineapple buns or rice cakes could smother. “Yeah,” I said, hoping that my voice didn’t reveal how bitter I was. I couldn’t wait to pay the bill and go shopping. *** After four hours of traipsing through the mall I’d finally found a pair of shoes I could
live with. They were gray and purple plaid clogs. The clerk had promised me that they would last for years, so hopefully this purchase would postpone another trip to the mall indefinitely. While my mom paid for them at the register, I walked over to the fountain. Two kids raced around it in circles, shrieking as they dipped their hands into the water to dig up coins to either throw back into the fountain or at each other. As fun as that game looked, sitting by the bench nestled between two ferns was more my style. Just as I was about to sit my legs froze. My throat closed. Right across from me lounged a man with brilliant purple hair. His skin was the color of confectioner’s sugar, and when he turned I caught a glimpse of his bright purple eyes. No. It couldn’t be. Why would Forneus condescend to enter a mall? But there was no denying it was him, dressed to the nines in an expensive tailored suit and shiny black shoes. Even more surprisingly he didn’t show any signs of being the decomposing
animated corpse that had flopped around in my mom’s kitchen just two days before. Oz really had fixed him up nicely. I darted behind the ferns and peeked through the foliage. Other girls also hid behind various objects, pointing and giggling as if they’d never seen a man before. Well, I couldn’t really blame them. As much as I loathed admitting it Forneus was breathtaking, though I wondered how they would have reacted if they knew what he really looked like. Thankfully it looked like the adoration of those young girls would go unrequited. A woman sat at Forneus’ side, clinging to his bicep. She looked elegant but it was difficult to discern more than that. She wore sunglasses and long white bangs fell over her forehead. The woman leaned over Forneus’ shoulder and whispered something in his ear. His fists tightened and she threw her head back and stroked her long, pale neck with a black-gloved hand. Then Forneus stood and strode forward.
Straight at me. I fell onto my back and kicked myself across the floor until I hit the mural of smiling salmon jumping up the Willamette River like a whales as kids on water skis waved at them. Forneus’ black slacks smelt vaguely of designer cologne. Slowly I lifted my trembling chin. “Get up,” he snarled. When my shaking legs refused to support me, he grabbed my arm, hauled me to my feet, and plastered me against the wall. Oh God, he was going to kill me for spying on him. I was going to die against a poorly conceived hippy mural composed of 100% post-consumer waste. Forneus placed his hand against the mural as if to place me in a cage. It was an unnecessary gesture. I already knew he had the power to immobilize and silence me. He was just doing this to scare me, and it was working. “What are you doing here?” I asked, sounding like a prepubescent boy whose
voice hadn’t dropped yet. “Meeting someone.” I swallowed. “You aren’t following me, are you?” “No. If I’d known you would be here I would have made alternate arrangements.” He slid the fingers of his free hand across his chin. “But there is something I wanted to discuss with you.” Panic slammed into my gut. “What?” I croaked. He paused for a moment, as if trying to decide how to put what he wanted to say best. “If you care for Oz then stay away from him.” I blinked. “What?” “This isn’t for my sake, or for yours. I really don’t care what happens to you.” I grit my teeth. “Why did you just tell me that?” “So that you know I’m being as up front about this as I can be,” he drawled. “It would
be best for him if you stopped seeing him completely.” A cold that had nothing to do with the freezing temperature of the mall, or the cruel way Forneus studied me, seized me. For a moment I couldn’t speak. “What happens if I don’t?” I whispered. “Unfortunately I’m not at liberty to tell you, but I will tell you this. Neither of us will like living with the result.” “Why didn’t you tell me to stay away from him when you met me at his house?” I retorted. “You just wanted to take me to hell by any means necessary. You didn’t care how Oz felt at all.” Forneus’ shoulders tensed with agitation. “Before you dismiss what I’ve said I want you to think about one thing: I’ve never lied to you. While it’s true I would never turn up an opportunity to use someone’s ignorance or impatience against them, that isn’t the same as telling a lie.” That sounded exactly like a lie to me, but I kept my mouth shut.
He leaned in closer, until his straight nose almost hit the tip of mine. His eyes took on an ultraviolet glow. “Despite what he’s told you, you will be taken in eventually. And yes, I’ll admit that I still hope to be the one who does it, though I probably won’t be.” I wasn’t going to let him cow me. I glared back, pretending my eyes could radiate an awesome brown light. “How can you be so sure that I’ll be taken?” Forneus grinned. “You’re a demon and devil magnet. The angel makes it a little more difficult to trace you, but the strength of its spirit isn’t enough to cancel out your lack of one. It’s too bad you live in a city. There’s very little around that you can hide behind.”
Except Oz, I thought. “Oz will be with me,” I told him. Forneus paused. “You have a lot of faith in him.” I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” “And what if he fails you?” He asked sharply. “Not intentionally, of course, but what if he meets a challenge he cannot fight
against?” “Then my angel will protect me.” “Your angel?” His voice rose at the end of the question almost playfully. “Why on earth would you think that he or she belongs to you? How do you know it would even be able to protect you? The majority of angels on earth aren’t even able to change a traffic light.” I swallowed. “It’s always been with me,” I whispered. That meant something, right? So what if it was lame. It might be able to sparkle, or something. He squeezed my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “And why do you think it was put here to protect you? It hasn’t come out to save you now, has it?” A shiver passed over my skin. No, the angel hadn’t come out. Nor had it sent the pain as it usually did. “Oz believes it will,” I croaked. “You place a heavy burden on our friend. He’s a fool, but I don’t think he deserves…” He sifted his fingers through my
hair, then caught a strand in his fist, “…this. The way you cling to him and that angel…It really is pathetic. I don’t know if I should be disgusted that you demand beings greater than yourself protect you, or pleased that at least you understand how utterly helpless you are.” The children in front of us were laughing. A cacophony of squeals and the sharp tap tap of footsteps on the marble mall floor surrounded us. Yet no one seemed to notice this insignificant girl captured in the background by this beautiful, fierce monster who wore a human face. Where were the girls who had cooed over him? Was the devil’s magic so strong that he’d made the two of us disappear? I could no longer control the rhythm of my breathing. My heart slammed against my rib cage as if trying to burst free. “You will be taken at some point. Demons are stronger than us, but you shouldn’t overestimate strength. Besides, not every demon will be as smitten with you as Azazel appears to be.” Forneus let his
voice fall into a whisper. “It would be better for everyone if you let me take you. I, at least, will give you a choice in the matter, and something in return.” My breath caught in my throat. “My brother? How do I know that you’re telling me the truth?” “I don’t lie, remember?” He replied. “No devil does, though our words can be tricky. However, since Azazel is involved I’m being kind and using very simple words. I haven’t said anything confusing, have I?” My head was spinning. I don’t know if it was because of what he’d said or something else. “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter. Oz forbade you from taking me back there.” He didn’t miss a beat. “I could write-up a contract that would suit both our needs without going against what he’d said.” A sharp pain hit my temple, though this time it was no larger than a pin prick. My eyes shut for a moment. A warning. It had to be. The angel was reminding me of its
presence, and that it would interfere if I considered his proposal. So you haven’t abandoned me. The thought raced through my mind and gave me strength. Forneus took a few steps back and placed his forefinger over his lips. “Isn’t it interesting how your little angel didn’t interfere with your free will this time?” I held my tongue. My angel had in a way, but I wasn’t going to tell him if he hadn’t noticed. “Consider my offer, Devi,” he said. “Though you were abandoned by your God, you will be accepted by my Prince.” He stepped away and removed his arm from my side. From the first time since I’d spotted him I began to breathe unconstrained. “Regardless of your choice,” he continued, “I hope that you will at least heed my warning about Oz.” “That isn’t up for you to decide,” I snapped. “Sometimes our friends do not make very good decisions for themselves.” A
tender, almost human expression flickered across his face. His eyes softened with a pain almost as encompassing and palpable as a teenage girl’s heartache. I felt it deeply, as if it was been my own. “You care for him,” I whispered. The moment the words left my mouth his face returned to normal. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he said in a voice not quite even, “but eternity would seem empty without him.” Another chill shot down my spine. “What do you mean ‘eternity without him?’ Where is Oz going?” Forneus sighed. “Just stay away from him. Please.” He stated with an urgency he was too proud to admit. He looked back once more. “And in spite of what you decide to do, it would be best if you didn’t tell Oz about this little conversation.” He turned his back to me and rejoined the woman at the fountain. She laughed again and gripped his arm as he stepped away. Just once, she tilted her sunglasses
down to meet my gaze before she disappeared from my sight. Her eyes were deep red, like an albino’s. Or maybe just like blood. I wrapped my arms around my chest. There’d been something unsettling about the way that woman looked at me… “Devi! There you are.” It took me a few moments to recognize my mom’s breathless voice. “I thought you’d be by the fountain. Not…” She trailed off and raised one eyebrow as she took in the mural. “What is this thing?” “Just a mural,” I replied. My voice wasn’t quite back to normal yet, but luckily my mom wasn’t paying attention. “Why are those fish smiling? Don’t they know that the boats are going to run them over?” I cracked a smile. “It’s a little silly, I guess.” “Yeah. Just a little.” My mom tugged on my arm. “Come on. Let’s get some dinner.”
We stopped at the mall food court. It was just us, a janitor, a pack of ridiculously dressed teens, and about twenty bored employees manning their stations. Though we ate quickly it was pitch black by the time we left.
Chapter 8 My mom stooped over the sink. I could barely stand to look at her at this hour, in this lighting. The thin lines time had etched into her skin appeared more prominent, as if her face was a lithograph exploring the transience of youth and beauty. “I’m going to stay down here for a little bit,” she said to no one in particular as she opened the cabinet under the sink and poured herself a drink. At times like this I wanted to tell her that it had been my father’s suicide had been my fault, not hers, and that my brother’s disappearance was due to my cowardice instead of her neglect. But I didn’t because I knew it would just hurt her more. “Alright,” I replied though I knew she wasn’t listening, and left before I saw what came next. I’d developed the habit out of taste instead of preservation. Not watching didn’t mean I didn’t know that she would watch some sensational cop or medical drama
before passing out on the living room couch —a couch that was the same design and color as the last one, but lacked bloodstains. I closed the door to my room and turned on my laptop. The gesture did little to keep the memories from rising to the surface of my consciousness, perhaps because it was now as familiar as my mother’s depression. After my father shot himself on the couch we didn’t get a new one for four days. For three nights I’d crept into the living room and laid my cheek against the red blooms on the fabric, touching it with a tenderness and honesty which my father had never hadn’t allowed me to express towards him since my brother’s disappearance. I’d cried into it, as if my tears could tell his blood all the things I’d never been able to say and did not even have words for. I’d never forgiven my mother for getting rid of that couch. On the day the men came to pick it up she’d had to hold me back so I wouldn’t jump in the truck with it. I’d screamed and kicked as she promised me that she’d get a new one just like it. No, I’d
repeated, but she didn’t understand. The next day she’d brought home a new one just like the old one, and I’d immediately hated it. Every time I saw it I imagined my father rotting underneath TV dinners and old car batteries in some godforsaken corner of a dump. And she passed out on that thing every night. Finally my computer booted. I opened the browser and watched the cursor blink on the search line. Only 11pm. School was hours away, and so was sleep. I still hadn’t written the damn paper. My fingers froze on the keyboard. Was the angel going to watch me type this out? He would be able to read it over my shoulder. Not only that, but he’d probably read every stupid paper I’d written. Nervous energy buzzed in my stomach. Stop it, I commanded. I needed to relax if I was going to get this paper done. I decided to play “Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode. It didn’t exactly have a calming effect. If I’d known that I wasn’t alone, and had never been alone, I wouldn’t have spent so much
time dancing to 80’s synth pop. I wondered if the angel liked this kind of music. Probably not, I decided, and cranked it up with a smile. Served him right for being a snoop. It was time to start on my homework. I looked at the list of dead presidents and groaned. I really didn’t want to start on this paper. I’d rather research something else. Something more interesting. Something like Oz. I sucked in my breath. What would happen if I typed his name into the search engine? Was he mentioned in the Bible? He had to be, or at least there was a good chance he would be if the Bible was correct. I looked over to the window. The blinds were closed, the door was shut. I was alone —or as alone as I would ever be. My fingers shook as I chicken-pecked out his name.
A-z-a-z-e-l. I don’t know what I expected. The computer to go black, perhaps. Lightening to strike. A voice to echo in my head. Instead the search engine spat out a page of
very normal looking web pages. In fact, the first result was his wiki page. I clicked it. It looked like every other wiki page, except it had an etching of a fat little goat man at the top. My stomach dropped to the floor. Forneus’ skin looked like it had been wrapped over his bones, like a mummy. Was that what Oz really looked like? No. Oz was about 5’10” and had a swimmer’s body. He was not hairy. He didn’t even have a goatee. And his feet were not hooves. I certainly had not wanted to kiss a goat. Or at least I hoped I hadn’t.
Don’t think about it, I demanded and scrolled down the page. It was odd to read about the things he’d told me. The article was written with a dispassionate, scholarly voice. He was originally a Cherubim, and assigned to guard the tree of life in the garden of Eden. A Grigori or Watcher, the article called them. And then he had taught men how to make weapons and women how
to paint their faces—and other secrets that were meant for only those in heaven.
I fell in love with the world. His words echoed through my mind. I thought of him as an angel surrounded by fruit he could not taste, beneath the sun whose heat he could not feel upon his skin. But no, his pain went far deeper than that. The Watchers had fallen in love with mortal women. A devastating thought I could not extinguish flashed in my mind. How long had Oz dreamed of that woman he could not touch? How could God hate them for loving the thing He created? But they’d loved it more than Him, so much so, in fact, that they’d accepted the scorn of Heaven and reveled in their banishment. I pushed myself away from the desk. Oz, I thought, tenderly. Were those few short
years worth an eternity of sorrow? Are you really telling the truth when you claim that you don’t hate the earth? I returned my gaze to the monitor. It
looked fuzzy, I realized. A ball in my throat made it difficult to breathe, to swallow. My hand was really shaking now and I didn’t care if my angel saw it. I opened a new tab and typed “Forneus’ into the search engine. His wiki page was significantly shorter, and there weren’t any pictures. Oh well, underneath all that rotting skin he was probably just a hairier goat. Not that I actually believed Oz really looked like a goat…I skimmed Forneus’ article. Though the article didn’t state it outright I knew him to be a devil, one whose sin was pride instead of lust.
Lust. I just scarcely suppressed a shudder as I instinctively clicked on Azazel’s page again. This was bad. I needed to stop associating Oz’s name with that word. But it was so hard when I thought about the way Oz collected things and threw himself into them as if he would never be satisfied. I remembered the way he’d looked at me when his face drew near to mine just yesterday… Heat tingled the nape of my neck. My
body shivered, as if someone had whispered something over my skin. “Good evening.” I leaped forward, screaming. My hands slammed into the back of the desk and I grabbed the closest hard object—an open stapler—and sung it into the perpetrator’s cheek. Oz grimaced. “Maybe sneaking up on you wasn’t such a cute idea.” I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Adrenaline still coursed through my body, and my breathing was ragged. A trickle of blood slid down his cheek. Oh my god, I’d actually stapled him. My hand flew to his face but I couldn’t make contact. I didn’t know what to do. So I said: “You have a staple in your face.” “I noticed.” Oz raised his hand to his cheek. His fingernails dug into his skin and pulled out the staple. I went pale. “Band-Aid,” I whispered, still
unable to move or even tear my eyes away from the scene. “No. It will heal in a second.” In the time it took for him to say that the skin closed up over the wound, leaving only the stain of blood on his finger pads and the red-painted staple in his hand. I shut my eyes and put my hand on my chest, trying to slow everything down to normal. “How did you even get in here?” I whispered. I hadn’t heard the window open, or the door creak open or swing shut either. He began to fidget with his left hand. “I’d rather not talk about that,” he coughed. My eyes narrowed. “Oz, the window is still shut. The door is too. How did you get in here?” He placed his hand on the corner of the desk and leaned into it, flashing me a charming smile. Yeah, just try to get out of this one, I silently dared him. Oz looked over his shoulder. “So you’re learning about fallen angels in school?” He raised a brow. “That’s is an oddly specific
subject for a high school class.” My cheeks grew hot. The tabs. I’d left all of them open: Forneus, Fallen Angel, Angelic Orders, Demonology, and, of course, Azazel—the page that currently filled my screen. “Our teachers encourage us to follow our wings.” I cringed as I finished the sentence. Did that even make sense? Hadn’t I meant to say “grow wings’ or “follow our dreams’? Hopefully Oz wouldn’t catch on. Yeah, hopefully the guy who’d been around since the fall of man had never heard of either of those cliched and corny expressions before. Ugh. I should have said: I’d rather not talk about that, or changed the subject like he did. But Oz cut me off before I could explain myself. “You’re looking stuff up on me.” He sounded way too pleased about that. “I looked up Forneus too.” I put my hands on my hips. “Apparently he has twenty-nine legions of demons.”
Oz rolled his eyes. “Impressive. Forneus would love to hear about them.” I bit my lip. “I do have one question about his page, though. Why are sea monsters associated with ovens?” Oz giggled—yes, actually giggled. It was a very sexy giggle, though, and made me smile like an idiot. “Is this about Forneus?” I nodded, and he covered his mouth with his hand. “You should ask him about that.” His eyes looked darker. The pupils seemed to have swallowed up the green color in them. But there was something soft and sweet about his expression. Wow. Was I seriously melting at the sight of scary black eyes? I needed help. “I should tell him his wiki page is only a few lines long.” Oz’s sexy voice made my limbs turn to liquid. “What if that isn’t true?” I asked. “Well, he doesn’t need to know.” Oz reached over to the keyboard. “Hey, mine is
longer than his,” he commented, smiling. “Forneus definitely needs to hear about this. This is really important information.” I was thankful that I’d scrolled all the way down to the bottom of Azazel’s wiki page, and tried to change the subject. “Yours might be longer, but you don’t have any demon legions,” I said, as if that could somehow break the spell he’d unwittingly (or, at least I hoped it had been unwittingly) cast on me. He folded his arms over his chest. “A wiki isn’t the most reliable source of information, you know.” I mimicked his haughty posture. “Oh, so you do have demon legions?” He shrugged. “Sometimes I rope one or two of them into helping me out with the bookstore or the animal shelter.” “Animal shelter?”I murmured. “I guess I hadn’t told you about that one, yet.” He looked down. “I’ve started a few nokill shelters around the country, and still own one of them. I’m especially fond if it because it’s where I found Princess.”
“So you love pancakes, are bossed around by your cat, and own an animal shelter and a used bookstore.” I couldn’t stop myself from beaming. “I would totally edit your wiki page to say that but I think it would get deleted right away.” “Well,” he drawled, “as I said, it’s not always the most reliable source of information.” I wet my lips and thought of the little goat man. I really hope you’re right. No, I couldn’t ask him about it. I had to stop thinking about it. “Do you mind if I have a look at what my page says?” He asked. “No, not at all,” I replied. And then he started scrolling up to the top. No! He’s gonna see goat man! “Wait…I mean, you… might want to…” Oz smiled. Slowly. “Is there something on there you don’t want me to see?” “No, it’s just, you know.” “Actually I don’t know.” His eyes were
laughing. I had a feeling they wouldn’t be laughing if he kept scrolling up. “There’s a picture of you on the page,” I admitted very quietly. The possible real you. “Oh, I have to see this then.” “I don’t think you should,” I blurted out, then I looked away. I refused to watch his face when he saw the round etching at the top. He began to laugh. “How flattering.” I cracked open an eye. “That’s a joke, right?” I babbled. “I mean, that isn’t actually a flattering picture of you.” He looked at me, eyes still laughing. “Would you mind if it was?” I felt like I’d just been sucker punched in the gut. “What do you mean?” “If this body was an illusion, and I really looked like that, would you mind?”
Are you really asking me if I would mind if beneath that sweet, sexy body you were a fat goat? Pressure built up in my
head. The room was spinning. I couldn’t breathe…”I would,” I admitted, breathless and feeling like the lowest and most superficial being in existence. “But I’d still want to be around you.” His grin deepened. “Really?” “Really,” I admitted. It made me sick to admit such a thing. I wouldn’t let you kiss me, though, I vowed silently. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t say you’d like me more because that isn’t a picture of me. I think it’s Pog.” I opened my eyes and my vision slowly came back into focus. “Pog?” “Yes. He’s an old friend. Lives in Greece, and makes the best wine I’ve ever had. Let’s see what else you were looking at.” His body froze. When he spoke, his voice was a deep growl. “Devi, why were you looking up how to conjure and control demons?” My toes curled. “Well, I thought that
since I might be running into a few, I should learn more about them.” He glared at me. “You don’t need to know about that.” “But what if I get into a bad situation and I need to protect myself from one, and can by binding it to my will—” His eyes became even darker. “Trust me, the last thing you want is a demon or a devil at your behest. Whatever the circ*mstances are, they would only get worse.” He gripped my shoulders and pulled me in front of him. He stared at me so intently I couldn’t look away. “Don’t even try it, Devi, under any circ*mstances. Promise me that you will never ask a devil for help, and that you will never try to control a demon.” The imprint of his fingers on my skin felt like a brand. I remembered Forneus’ offer. He wanted me to stay away because he did not want to spend an eternity without Azazel. He’d said that sometimes friends do not make the right decisions for themselves. And that Oz, regardless of his intent, would
fail. I raised my hands to my shoulder and placed them over his. They were warm, as usual. This was how I wanted them to remain —warm and strong. When I closed my eyes I heard my heartbeat escalating. What if this person hurt himself because of me? What if that could be prevented? “Promise me,” he whispered. I didn’t open my eyes, though I could tell he was much closer than before. My skin was humming with the awareness of it. “I guess I should delete The Lesser Key of Solomon from my bookmarks, then,” I said. He sighed. His grip on me relaxed. “That would be a good idea.” I waited for him to press me further to promise him, but he didn’t. He just deleted the offensive websites from my bookmarks. I looked down at my toes curling in my gray wool socks. I hadn’t lied to him, not exactly. But somehow this deception felt worse. I peeked at him once more. When he
glanced back over his hunched shoulder he gave me a smile. It made him look young and unrestrained, and the longer I looked at him the more my chest tightened as if there was a string in my chest being pulled past its limit and would soon snap. Did Forneus ever feel such things when he “didn’t lie”? “You don’t have to worry about any of this,” he said. “I will stay beside you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I thought, remembering Forenus’ warning. Now was the time to tell him about our meeting in the mall. Now was the time to ask him what Forneus had meant when he pleaded that I stayed away. But I couldn’t bring myself to say anything because the devil had told me not to in that pathetic, lonely voice and I felt, deep inside my gut, that he was giving me a glimpse of a truth Oz would not reveal to me. “Did you really share God’s secrets with men?” I asked, in an attempt to change the subject and get my mind off of the subject of “not lying” to Oz. He froze. “Was that accomplishment
listed on the page?” I looked down. “Yes. It said that you taught men how to make weapons, and created make-up for women.” He ran his fingers over the surface of my desk as if it were a body of water. “When men were cast out of Eden they didn’t have sharp teeth or claws to catch food, nor could they flee larger predators or dig burrows in the earth. They only thing they’d been built for was to praise God. I pitied them and taught them how to make crude stone tools, and they eventually perfected the technique and developed more sophisticated weapons.” His voice faltered. “I wanted to help them, but I think that knowledge just made them feel even more distance from the rest of creation.” I swallowed, but it was too difficult to force down the pity welling up in my stomach. “What about the ones that were like me—the other humans who did not have a spirit. Did they also use your tools—” “You mean the Nephilim,” he interrupted in a whisper. “They were the descendents of
demons and mortals, and so they did not have spirits.” He paused. “God ordered His followers to slaughter them thousands of years ago, and when our children died us demons lost our ability to procreate.” My heartbeat stuttered as my mind raced. Did that mean my father wasn’t really my father? Or my mother not really my mother? And what about my brother—no, it couldn’t be. We all looked too alike. “You’re probably wondering why you were made this way. I have no answer,” he continued softly. “You don’t act like or look like one of our children. We call them humans, but they were more like beasts. They were larger than men, stronger, and were hostile towards the idea of autonomy. They did not desire to create works of art, and refused to use my tools. They were kind…” Oz’s voice broke. He stood, turned away and walked to the chestnut chest at the foot of my bed. There he sat and picked up the corner of the quilt my grandmother made for me when I was young. It was pastel
yellow, pink and blue, and had little bears dancing around the edge of it. She’d sewn three hearts in the center—one for me, one for my brother, and one for my brother’s imaginary friend Cammy. “Do you see something you like?” I asked. He didn’t look up. “This reminds me of something someone made for me once.” A chill rushed through me, making every hair on my body stand on end. I knew that I should stop myself from asking the question that flashed in my mind, but the amount of longing in his voice caused a physical response that I couldn’t ignore or stomp out. “Oz, did you fall in love with a mortal woman?” His fist tightened around the quilt. For a second I thought he would either lash out or disappear, but in the end he just whispered: “Yes.”
Stop it, Devi. Don’t be cruel. But I didn’t listen to my conscience. I didn’t even pause. “What happened?”
I thought he wouldn’t answer. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he hadn’t—such things were none of my business—but soon his voice took on a softness I hadn’t heard before. “After I fell we spent thirty years together until she died. Then God punished her for tempting me, though she was blameless. She hadn’t known that I’d watched her for a year, and if she had she wouldn’t have known to send me away.” His lips twisted, resembling a gash more than a mouth. “How could He have expected a human to reject an angel? They are the closest things to God, the very thing humans were built to love. Of course she loved me when I appeared in front of her in the body of an angel. If I’d known I wouldn’t have…” My feet moved towards him. My knees bent on the floor, and my hands took his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you such a thing.” His eyes cleared, as if he’d momentarily forgotten himself and was just regaining consciousness. “Cruel girl,” he whispered, and placed a finger over my lips.
“You want to know what happened next, don’t you?” Of course I wanted to know, but I couldn’t just ask him even if he was offering an answer. He might be baiting me, though I couldn’t figure out what that would accomplish. He leaned closer, closer, until I could feel his breath on my forehead. Or perhaps it was his lips. I was too afraid to look, to even move. My entire body was buzzing with the sudden awareness of him and the fact that we were alone in my room, near my bed. “You’re not saying anything, Devi,” he said. My chest began to heave. I hoped he didn’t notice. Yeah right. His hands gripped my shoulders. I hadn’t even seen them move. “I won’t abandon you. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, I won’t let them…” His voice broke. Before I could answer he pulled me to the bed and pushed me onto my back. His knees slipped over my thighs,
his hands gripped my wrists, pinning them at my shoulders. His lips hovered over mine. I could feel his breath over them, the heaviness of it. Then he didn’t move. He was waiting for something. For me to do or say something. “Are you trying to make my angel come out?” I could barely hear my voice. My heart hammered against my ribcage so forcefully that it felt as if that essential organ would bruise. “Are you really thinking of that angel right now, when I am this close to you?” He turned his head and dropped lower. I could feel his mouth moving on the side of my neck. “I guess someone such as myself shouldn’t expect anything different.” He pressed his lips into my neck then, and opened his mouth. Instinctively I gripped his shirt. My nails must have dug into his skin but he didn’t react to the sting. He didn’t touch my lips, or even my face. His hands remained planted on my wrists. Yet every cell in my body seemed to
sing. I felt weightless, as if I were floating away—dissolving into the dim overhead light in my room. What are you doing? I wondered, but he didn’t seem to be moving. Didn’t seem to be doing anything but holding me close as if I would disappear. I felt something wet run down my cheeks, into my hair and stick to my back. He let go of my wrists and wiped his hands over my temple. Through bleary eyes I saw his mouth open, then close. Then he rolled onto his side and stuffed his face into one of my pillows. My wrists were sore from the pressure of his grip. I raised one hand into the air as if to touch his shoulder, but I stopped just before I made contact. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the air. He was silent, still for a few moments. Then: “Why are you apologizing?” “I don’t know. I just somehow upset you…” “And I didn’t upset you?” He interrupted.
“You didn’t. I’m just not used to feeling this way.” A lump formed in my throat. “Please don’t hate me.” He flipped over to face me. “It’s not possible for me to hate you.” His voice was hoarse, as if it hurt to spoke. “I thought it would be different this time. I thought it would hurt less. But this feeling doesn’t make me kinder, or wiser, or more patient.” I suddenly felt very small. What was he talking about? And why did his words make my skin shiver all over? “What feeling are you talking about?” I asked. He grinned and put his hand on my cheek. “My sweet, savage sentiments.” I slapped his hand away. God, I was never going to live that one down. “Come on, I’m being serious.” Instead of answering, Oz sighed and looked at the ceiling. “You’re pretty moody for such an easygoing guy,” I told him. “I can see why you think the angel might come out when you act like this every time you kiss me.”
“You too,” he murmured. “So far you’ve cried every time.” My cheeks burned. I hadn’t cried because I didn’t like it, I’d cried because I liked it too much. It made me want things I’d always thought I should live without. My loneliness had been my punishment for allowing my brother to disappear. Then Oz had come along and made me feel connected to the world. It scared me. I felt like I was going to lose everything all over again. How could I even begin to explain such things to him? Oz grabbed my hand. His green eyes captured mine, and the sadness in them almost made me stop breathing. “Devi, only an angel would be able to watch you cry like that and not feel anything.” My mouth went dry. “Does he hate me, then?” He shook his head. “Angels can’t hate. They don’t have feelings, at least not like you and I do. The only thing he can feel is sadness when he disobeys or isn’t close to
God.” I swallowed. “What about demons? Do they still feel that distance?” “You had to ask that, didn’t you?” Nausea built in my chest. I didn’t want him to have to live with that pain after his fall. It would have been too cruel for God to force him to suffer eternally like that. “You don’t have to answer,” I said cowardly. The truth was that I didn’t think I would be able to stomach the answer. “No, it’s alright, although I’m only going to say this once.” He leaned forward. “I cannot speak for us all, but I wish no part of my being had ever known or longed for Him. My spirit remembers what it felt like to be next to Him and wishes to return, no matter how much time passes.” His fingers ran over my wrist, right where he’d held it just moments before. “I wish I was like you.” “Don’t say that,” I whispered. “But it’s true,” he said. “There are things I long for as well,
though I don’t want to. It’s not as bad as with you, but it’s still there.” I wrapped my arms around my chest, trying to suppress a shiver that shot down my spine. “It seems impossible that someone could long for something they’ve never experienced and could never understand, but I do. I wanted that light. I felt like I could have it, and then it disappeared the moment my brother disappeared.” He didn’t respond, so I continued. “I need to know what happened to my brother.” I said, and then, even softer: “I want to go where he is.” Oz looked at me. His eyes narrowed and his breaths became almost imperceptibly shorter. “I’d hoped you would change your mind.” I looked at my hands. “I won’t ever.” This time his sigh was more drawn out, as if he’d resigned himself to some harsh fate. “What happened when he was taken?” I tucked my chin into my neck. “Forneus didn’t tell you?”
“I want to hear it from you.” I spoke quickly, ignoring the tremor in my chest. “We were playing outside on the hill when suddenly a light appeared. It wasn’t like any light I’d ever seen before. The strength of it hurt, even when I threw my arm over my eyes, but it was also beautiful. Then a man appeared. He was even more stunning than the light. And when he looked at me those dark blue eyes of his seemed to not even recognize me as anything. I stopped when our gazes met. I stopped moving forward. And in those few seconds the light swallowed up him and my brother.” My fist squeezed the quilt. I wanted to rip it. To rip everything. Yet my body remained still. “How could I hesitate at such a moment?” “It would have happened even if you could have moved,” he said. “Maybe.” That single word was all I could manage. Maybe he was right, but it still, I couldn’t… Oz Oz interrupted my thoughts. “What did the man look like?”
“He had blue eyes and blond hair. He wore a white robe, and had four wings,” I told him. Oz shot up. “Four wings?” “Yes,” I said hesitantly. Why were his brows furrowed, and his jaw so tight? He paused a moment. “Are you sure?” I unsuccessfully tried to hide my impatience from my tone. “Do you think I’m lying?” He placed his hand on my knee, to reassure me I guess. I needed to work on my poker face. “Of course not, but it was a long time ago so you might not remember.” I tried to subdue the irritation that rose within me. He was trying to help, I reminded myself. But I didn’t like the fact that he doubted me on this, because I could remember every agonizing detail whether I wanted to or not. “Look, I can see that you’re upset. I’ll take your word for it for now,” he said. “Why is it so strange that the angel
would have four wings?” I asked. Oz leaned back into my pillows. I hadn’t bought new pillows since I was about twelve, so every one of them was fluffy, lacy and neon pink. The fact that the demon didn’t even react to being surrounded by the saccharine, selfish dreams of a little girl who wanted to be a princess was almost too much for me. I had to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. “It would mean that he was one of the Powers,” Oz said slowly. “They are the guardians of heaven and fight demons and devils.” Alright, so the angel was a fighter. Probably a brutal one, too. “Sounds like he had more important things to do than pick on kids,” I responded bitterly. “You’re right, but it’s more than that. To my knowledge no angel from that order has ever interacted with humans. It makes no sense that he would even come to earth.” Oz sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His cheeks were slightly flushed,
and his breath still a bit uneven. I didn’t want to think about what I looked like. “We can talk about this later. Didn’t you have homework?” It took a few moments for my brain to process his words. “Are you actually telling me to do my homework?” He looked down. “Yeah, I actually am.” I couldn’t respond. Why was this person —no, demon—so nice to me? I hated myself for being so uncomfortable, for falling apart the moment my body began to sing. What was wrong? Why couldn’t I take what I wanted? He sighed. “What was it on, anyway?” Great. While I was dying of shame about our almost-kiss, he was thinking entirely about schoolwork. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me. “History,” I said. “Hey, I could probably help you if that’s the subject.” I tilted my head and raised a brow. “Do
you know who was president in 1890?” “President? As in American president?” “Yes, of course that’s what I mean.” “I don’t even know who the current president is.” Oz laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. Demons don’t pay attention to current events.” How was something that happened in 1 8 9 0 current? “I thought demons were always involved with politics,” I told him. “Devils are the ones that get involved in banal power-games,” he explained. Nice to know that he thought the American political system was banal. “I think I’d be better off asking Forneus for help.” “Oh, he’s not teaching you anything.” Oz’s eyes were so dark and possessive that I almost laughed. Okay, actually I did laugh. He glowered. “I’m glad that you have to write a paper you haven’t studied for yet in a few hours.”
I tried to stop giggling as I walked over to my laptop. “Alright, I probably do deserve that.” Oz made a puppy face. “It’s no fun when you so graciously accept defeat.” He tried to close the top of my laptop but I wedged my fist in between it. “Hey, I’m trying to write here!” “Devi, it’s so mean of them to make you write papers like this right before you graduate.” “I think that’s why they do it,” I said dryly. “I don’t think I can allow you to go to school anymore if you continue to torture yourself unnecessarily.” He sounded so sincere that I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s not going to work. I still have to go.” He groaned. “Fine, but I don’t think I can sit here and watch you do this sort of thing.” “Good,” I said. “I’ll probably do better if you’re not around.”
But of course he stayed. He even brought me some Earl Gray tea later on that evening, after reassuring me that he wouldn’t wake my mother and she wouldn’t notice him even if he did. I didn’t ask about how he’d accomplished that. He’d probably be reluctant to answer, just as he’d been when I asked him how he got into my room. A few hours later I hit the print button and flopped onto my bed. He stood over me with a satanic grin. “You’re not going to let me read it?” I cringed. The paper was bad. Really, really, really bad. Oz would stop talking to me if he realized I could create something so lame. “Please don’t.” His smile deepened. “Alright, I won’t. But I wish you’d let me.” I rolled onto my side and glared at him. “You’re not going to read it when I fall asleep, are you?” “You’re going to let me stay here until you fall asleep?”
I couldn’t answer for a few minutes. I hadn’t really thought about it. It was weird that I didn’t find anything strange about him being in my room. Instead I felt safe and comfortable. “You have been using your demon powers on me, haven’t you?” “No, I don’t think that’s it,” he said as he tucked me in. “Just promise me you won’t read it.” “Alright, I won’t.” I didn’t know if I could trust a demon’s promise, even if the demon was Oz, but my need for sleep soon squashed all doubts in my mind. I don’t know how long Oz stayed, but when I awoke he was gone.
Chapter 9 My High School did not look like a Gap commercial, more like the morning after Woodstock when all the hippies crawled out of their tents and tread through the mud to their beat up and poorly painted vans, leaving the world of free drugs, free love, and awesome music for that 8am job they hated but would continue to work at for the rest of their life. Kim dropped her bag onto the desk next to me. “You look like hell.” That didn’t surprise me. I certainly felt like it. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “You…” I couldn’t finish. Something was wrong. You could always tell when Kim had cried the entire night before. Those elegantly slanted eyes of hers were puffy and red, and her olive skin was marred with strawberry blotches. “Why didn’t you call me?” I whispered. “You were out with your mom, weren’t you?” She spat. “Besides, it was late, and I
didn’t want to hear “I told you so’…” “Kim,” I whispered, fighting the urge to draw her into my arms. She would hate a scene; she hated revealing her weakness, regardless of the fact that her attempts to hide it always made her seem more fragile. “I’ve never said “I told you so’ in my entire life.” She cringed. “That just makes me feel worse. It’s what I would have said to you.” I stood up and placed my hand on her arm. That was a gesture simple enough for me to get away with in public. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” “First period is about to start.” “Like you care.” I put our bags under one arm and hauled her out with the other. We went to the ladies room on the fourth floor next to the janitor’s office. Like the rest of the building it had greasy red brick walls that looked like the kind you see in those old fast food restaurants. Unlike the other bathrooms in the school it was cramped and kinda smelly, hence the
reason why no one ever went there. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Don’t put our stuff on the floor,” she whispered and leaned against the side wall. She turned her head away from the mirror, and I couldn’t help but notice how the tag someone had drawn on the glassy surface with permanent marker perfectly framed her ear. “God, this place is so disgusting. I can’t possibly talk in here.” Her voice was already cracking. I just waited, knowing that she needed silence. “I went to the party on Saturday. Saw James,” she began, and I felt as if someone had just sucker-punched me in the stomach. I didn’t want to hear what happened next. I always had to hear what happened next. “And we—I thought he’d broken up with Amy —and…” The tears were really coming out now. Her back slid down the brick wall to the floor and she landed with a thud on the heels of her shoes. “Why does this always happen to me? Why do I have to care about him so much?”
“James is such a dick,” I said, but I wanted to scream: Why do you keep going
to places where you know he’ll be? Why do you keep trusting him? It wouldn’t have solved anything. I knew why she couldn’t stop following him around like a puppy dog. I understood it. She loved that guy with ridiculous frosted tips, an orange spray-on tan and designer jeans for some reason no one else could fathom, and her reason had nothing to do with the fact that he was wealthy or popular. He’d stood up for her that day in sixth grade when she’d just transferred to America and didn’t yet speak a word of English, and though she hadn’t understood what he’d said she knew what he’d done. It pissed me of how that one kind gesture had somehow justified six years of infatuation and one year of being treated like dirt. I dropped to my knees. “You’re too damn pretty and kind hearted,” I whispered, and held her as she sniffled into my shoulder. I knew that when she saw him she
couldn’t stay away. I just wished she would actively avoid him. I wanted to say other things—that he didn’t care about her, that he just used her, that she knew this—but I didn’t want to be the one who hurt Kim. I wanted to hurt James. Rage made my limbs ache. I wished we could do something to make him regret it. “Let’s go get ice cream or something,” I said. “I don’t want it right now. I’m tired of this happening to me,” she whispered. “I wish I could do something back to him.” I froze. Don’t get too excited, I told myself, but my nerves didn’t listen they latched onto that little phrase like a lifeline. It was the first time Kim had ever hinted at doing something to get back at him. I wanted to nurture that instinct. “We’re going to miss second period if we don’t leave now,” she said, and didn’t mention her desire for revenge any further. I nodded. At least James wasn’t in any of my classes this term. I don’t think I could
stand seeing his face for a forty minute block of time without doing something stupid, like flipping over his desk and screaming in his face. I groaned as we trod back to class. Yeah, detention for the rest of the month or possibly even suspension would really show James. I guess I didn’t need someone else to tell me that I had poor impulse control. Or maybe I had really good impulse control because I’d never done anything but glare at him. *** Mr. McDonnell slapped his ruler against the chalkboard. His wire-frame glasses were pushed to the tip of his bumpy nose, and he rotated his round, balding head around the room slowly, making sure to make eye contact with each student before moving to the next. “We have a new transfer student,” he boomed. “Jasmine has been home schooled and will be joining us for our afternoon History and English courses so she can meet the state’s standards for
graduation. I hope you’ll all welcome her.” The speech was somewhat disappointing given his melodramatic presentation. I sat up in my seat so I could see what had caused all the guys jaws to drop. The girl wasn’t very tall, but even I had to admit that she was really cute. She had caramel skin and shoulder-length, chocolate hair. I could barely make-out the tip of her upturned nose underneath her bangs. It was obvious that she didn’t want to be introduced like this. She had her hands behind her back and was twisting her left ankle. I immediately felt sorry for her. The teacher coughed. “Take that seat empty seat in the back,” the teacher said, pointing to the seat next to me. Then she stood up and flicked her hair behind her face. Breath left my lungs as if someone had knocked the wind out of me. Her eyes were a complex, deep green—the color of malachite or Oz’s eyes. My mouth opened. Stop gawking, I told myself sternly,
but my body refused to listen. I didn’t think it was possible for someone else to have eyes as stunning as his, and they looked otherworldly against her caramel skin. I glanced down, but when I looked back up she was still staring at me. Slowly, her lips curled into a small, secret smile. I raised one corner of my mouth and both of my eyebrows. Uh, okay? She continued to gaze at me as she made her way to the back of her room. Hi, she mouthed when no one else could see her face. “Hi,” I whispered back. This was too weird. Not that I wasn’t nice to new people or anything, but it was strange that someone would take an interest in me. My clothes weren’t trendy and I’d only gotten a few hours sleep the night before. Hell, I hadn’t even put on a clean shirt or taken a shower that morning. She plopped down next to me, opened her binder, fished a pencil the size of her thumb out of the front pocket of her faded
jeans and began to write furiously. It was good that she was excited about class, I guess. Although watching her bite her bottom lip as she squinted at the page made me tired. I rested my cheek on the table and glared at the clock above the door. It was thirty minutes fast, so I pretended that we only had another hour until class was over… A folded paper landed in front of my nose. I turned it over in my hand. It had my name on it, amazingly. It had been a really long time since someone had tossed a note at me, but it wasn’t exactly an experience I felt nostalgic about. I think the last one I’d been given had asked if I liked Dan. Well, I didn’t not like Dan, so I wrote sure. Unfortunately Dan hadn’t liked me at all, so when he was shown the note he screamed about me being a creepy stalker. If this note had anything to do with liking Dan I was going to write hell yes and give it to him myself.
I opened the note. It wasn’t about Dan. Or at least I sincerely hoped it wasn’t.
Hey, did you miss me? Had I read it correctly? Yes. The script was perfect, as if it was calligraphy. Except instead of ink it had been written in pencil. I looked to my left. Jasmine was beaming at me. She had definitely written this. Uh, no, I wanted to write back. I don’t
know you. How could I have missed you? I glanced at the note and then back at her. She had her elbow planted in the middle of the desk and was leaning on it. On it was a tattoo of a goat in the center of some triangles. She had a serpentine dragon tattoo on her other arm. My blood turned to ice. My body itched.
Get out of there, my mind screamed, but I couldn’t move. A demon was beside me. It had to be. Only a demon or a devil could have eyes like that. And not all demons could be trusted. This one especially. It seemed to have a seriously twisted sense of humor if they thought that sending me
threatening notes like this in the middle of a crowded room was cute. I clenched my hands into fists and looked at the clock. Fifty more minutes. The demon wouldn’t try to do anything before then, right? But even if I darted out the door after class I probably wouldn’t get away fast enough. Another paper landed on my desk. Instinctively I swatted it away and jumped back, trying to suppress a squeal from escaping my throat. It didn’t quite work. “Devi, do you have something you would like to share with the rest of the class?” Mr. McDonnell asked in a drawn out voice. My face felt like it was on fire. I could see the shoulders of my peers shaking. Some of them even turned around and bit their cheeks, trying not to laugh. Mr. McDonnell’s eyes narrowed. “Or are you just that fascinated that on this very day in 1890, president Eisenhower was born?” I shifted in my seat. It was amazing how such a portly, soft man could so closely
resemble a viper. “I thought I saw…” I began, but my mind went blank. It’s not like I could tell them that the adorable girl next to me was a demon. Maybe a bug had scurried across my desk, perhaps? Girls screamed about bugs all the time. Okay, sometimes. Not really. I glanced at Jasmine. She wasn’t smiling anymore. In fact, she looked extremely concerned. Oh God, that couldn’t be good. Why couldn’t that note have been about how much I wanted to marry Dan? “What did you think you saw?” Mr. McDonnell asked, over enunciating each word. Jasmine shoved back her chair and stood. “I’m sorry, Mr. McDonnell. It’s my fault. I needed to go to the bathroom so I tapped Devi on the shoulder to ask where it was, and I guess I startled her.” Mr. McDonnell pointed to the little envelope by the door. “The hall pass is there. Devi, show her where it is.” I watched Jasmine bounce to the front of the room. Dread built up in my stomach. Had the teacher really just asked me to go
out alone in the hall with that demon? “Devi,” the teacher’s sharp tone cut through my thoughts. “Uh, I don’t need to go to the bathroom,” I mumbled. Mr. McDonnell rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t need to go, but Jasmine does and you need to show her where it is.” My hands balled into tight, clammy fists. “What I’m saying is I don’t want to go.” My voice was shaking. Every part of me was shaking. A vein appeared in the middle of Mr. McDonnell’s forehead. “Would you rather read your paper in front of the class?”
Yes! I scooped my paper out of my binder and marched to the front of the room. Wrists, be still, I demanded, and cleared my throat. People were already starting to laugh. Hopefully my red face would distract them from hearing whatever came out of my mouth. “On October 14th, 1840 a very important man was born. His parents did not
know it then, nor did his relatives, or the people who populated his little town of Denison, Texas, but the babe that was brought into the world that day would one day become one of the most important men who had ever been born on October 14th in the year 1840. Yes, the boy christened Dwight would one day become the 34th president of the United States of America, and go on to do many things like helping bring the Interstate Highway System to our nation. Dwight D. Eisenhower, for that was his full name, believed the Interstate Highway System would allow those who lived in large cities to flee the bombs dropped by the Russians in the Cold War. As it turned out no bombs were dropped, but if they had been those city dwellers would have been thankful for these evacuation routes. But that isn’t all he did—” “Stop. Just stop.” Mr. McDonnell’s voice was hoarse. He was sitting on the front of his desk, back slouched and hand was firmly planted on his forehead. “I’m not even done with the first
paragraph,” I told him. “Leave.” I placed the paper next to where he sat. He gave it a forlorn look. “Take the new student to the bathroom now, please.” “But I read the paper,” I began in a highpitched tone. “You said that I didn’t have to if —” “I was hoping you would stop yourself, but you obviously lack any sense of shame, taste, and compassion for your fellows,” he interrupted. “Why don’t you make it up to me and the rest of the class by removing yourself from our presence.” A lump was forming in my throat.
Please don’t cry, don’t be so pathetic in front of everyone. Also, don’t flip him the bird. “If she doesn’t want to take me it’s fine. I’m not upset about it.” The voice was sweet, almost musical. It came from Jasmine. I looked at the cute Latina chick at the door, who was probably a demon and was probably going to kill me. Why was she the
only one in the room sticking up for me? “Devi, you can’t just do whatever you want all the time,” Mr. McDonnell snapped, completely ignoring Jasmine. My chest heaved. Like I didn’t already know that. I tried to clear my thoughts. Oz had told me to trust my instincts. I didn’t feel a headache coming on, only that sickness that came from being studied by everyone in the room as if they were a boy with a magnifying glass on a sunny day and I was the unfortunate ant walking past him. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe the demon just wanted to chat, or become friends. Probably not, but if the angel wasn’t making me sick then this was probably okay. I snatched Jasmine’s hand and walked into the hall without turning back. The door closed behind us. I was alone in the empty hall with it. My arms began to shake, first a light tremor in a wrists, and then my legs began to tremble. Even my teeth were chattering. The demon put its hand on my shoulder. I
flinched instinctively. It was touching me— trying to distract me. Where was my angel? Shouldn’t he get out here to smite this person? “Devi, it’s me.” I froze. It was Oz’s voice. “How,” I whispered without looking up from the ground. He rubbed my shoulder with a light touch. It should have soothed me—would have, probably, if I hadn’t been so anxious. “Just look at me.” I shut my eyes. What was this cruel trick? “I don’t know who you are or what you’re trying to do, but…” I looked up into Oz’s face. He was wearing his signature black t-shirt, faded jeans and leather jacket. His face was pale. The hand on my shoulder was pale. And he had the same green eyes as Jasmine. “It’s you?” My throat closed. “What is going on? Why are you…” Oz slid his hand through his hair. “We should probably get out of the center of the hall. I don’t know how the teachers would feel
if they discovered you out with a guy who looks like me.” I wasn’t listening. “How are you here? Where is Jasmine?” “Demons are shape shifters. We can take the form of any animal,” Oz said. My heartbeat sped. “Wait, if demons can take on any form, how do I know this is really you and not someone else?” Oz cracked a smile. “Well, let’s just say I can see why you didn’t want me to read your paper last night.” Okay, so he knew something only Oz would know…unless invisibility was another one of their unholy powers. I looked at my toes. “It gets worse. At one point I started just naming off random people in his family like one of those long genealogy sections in The Bible.” Oz chuckled. “It did look pretty long. How many pages was it?” “I don’t even remember. I didn’t have a thesis so I just kept going in hopes that I my
unconscious would uncover one. It didn’t.” His grin was huge, now. “Well at least he has to read it all.” He looked back at the door down the hall. “How is such a nasty bastard a teacher anyway?” “Tenure,” I replied, then stopped walking. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” He leaned against the chipped, paleblue lockers that lined the wall. “Well, it was a last minute decision. Attending High School isn’t exactly how I want to spend my time, even if I have an eternity before me.” “No, I mean why didn’t you tell me that you can shape shift?” He furrowed his brows. “Didn’t I say I could turn into Pog last night?” “Maybe, but Pog’s a goat. Jasmine is a girl. Like a really hot girl.” He wiggled his eyebrows devilishly. “So, you liked her then? I didn’t know you swung that way.” “No, I don’t.” I shook my head. I had
completely lost control over this conversation. “What I mean is, is that even what you really look like? Are you even the person I met a few days ago?” I shut my eyes. I could hear his footsteps coming toward me. “Does it matter to you that much?” His voice was soft. His hand was soft too when he cupped my cheek. “Yes,” I said, as if I was surprised by it. I didn’t feel like I knew him anymore, but something stopped me from saying it. I guess if you were truly formless, such things wouldn’t matter. I decided to try not to let them bother me right then. It was probably best to change the subject. “So why are you at school if you hate it so much?” He gave me a sideways glance. “Why are you?” It took me a moment to form an answer. I couldn’t believe he’d actually asked me that. “Well, it’s just what kids my age do I guess.” “You don’t seem like the kind of person
who does things just because they’re told to.” I wasn’t even going to touch that one. “Stop trying to change the conversation. Why did you enroll as Jasmine?” Oz exhaled laboriously. “I can’t let you go to school alone. If something happened to you here I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” I put my hands on my hips. “Uh huh. Then why are you only in my afternoon classes?” He suddenly found the gray and cream floor tiles extremely interesting. “I don’t like getting up early.” The hallway began to warp and spin, as if I were suddenly looking at one of those magic eye cards instead of the same old school scene I saw every day. “What?” Oz stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m not all powerful.” “Yeah, I didn’t expect you to be. I just didn’t realize you were that lazy.” I sighed
when he didn’t answer. “Well, I think I’m glad you’re here, though it’s going to take a while for me to get used to you as…Jasmine. Why did you pick the form of a girl, anyway?” “Because here at school there are some places Oz can’t go that Jasmine can.” My mouth fell open. I really couldn’t move now, couldn’t think. “That is so disgusting.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Get your mind out of the gutter. If I have to bust into some place I don’t want to cause a scene by being a guy.” Where did he think he’d have to go? The girls’ locker room? “I think you “busting into some place’ would cause a scene no matter what. Besides, couldn’t you just change form before you did it if you had to?” “Well I’ve been Oz for a long time. The more I use a form the easier it is for me to change into it. I don’t generally run around as a chick. Like right now, changing into Jasmine is going to take a good ten minutes at least.”
“That’s too long. Mr. McDonnell is probably going to send scouts to see if I’ve done something terrible to you.” Oz scrunched up his nose. “Is that the ladies room?” He asked, pointing at a gaping hole in the brick wall with no door. “Yeah. “I better get on it, then. It would probably look bad if you were wandering around with some twenty-something year old guy instead of Jasmine.” In the end Mr. McDonnell didn’t send anybody to check on us, so I had a lot of time to think about Oz, or Azazel, or Jasmine, or whomever it was that was in there changing their shape. All I knew was that thing was kind of my boyfriend, or at least I hoped it was. Yes, that much hadn’t changed, and I supposed I’d just have to deal with the fact that the person I liked could….do this. My musings didn’t amount to much in the end, but at least I was pretty sure that his or her true form wasn’t Pog. “Hey Devi.” I jumped at silky, feminine voice.
Jasmine was in front of me, wearing the same faded jeans and red t-shirt she’d worn when she’d been introduced to the class. “Ready?” She asked. Right, we had to go back to class. I wanted to say something but the words didn’t come. I couldn’t stop staring at her, looking for the part of her that was the person I knew. But there really wasn’t anything about her short, curvaceous form that even resembled Oz, except for the eyes. She even smelled different—like cinnamon instead of leather and old books. Jasmine gave me a dazzling smile and I tried to smile back, feeling as if I’d just met a long lost sister and didn’t know what to say. Things were beginning to get way too complicated.
Chapter 10 Kim found us sitting on the cement steps by the sidewalk. She stomped in front of us and stuck her finger in Jasmine’s face. “Who is that?” I glanced at Jasmine, wishing that I could tell her that Kim’s rudeness was some sort of cultural thing, but that wasn’t even close to being truthful. It was just Kim and probably half of the reason why I loved her. In fact, if she hadn’t been so pushy we would have probably never become friends. I hadn’t ever had much use for friends when my brother was around, and after he disappeared I’d lost any interest in interacting with others entirely. There wasn’t anyone who could replace my brother, and even thinking about doing such a thing made me feel so hollow I feared I wouldn’t be able to feel anything ever again. That was all before the pretty girl who couldn’t speak English or Spanish started following me around like a shadow. When I told her to get lost she’d yell back something in
Vietnamese even louder. She still refused to tell me the things she’d said. I wished she would—I think I’d love it. I opened my arms and called out dramatically: “This is Jasmine.” Kim scrunched her eyebrows together. “Interesting name,” she retorted snidely. Jasmine, or Oz, or Azazel, or whatever it was, flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and leaned back on the steps. “I was named after a character in my mother’s favorite book,” she replied with a sultry, sexy accent. “Which book was that?” Kim’s voice had taken on an edge. Wait, her mother’s favorite book? She couldn’t mean…no she did mean… My face went red. Of course. I should have known. Jasmine responded before I could stop her. “Sweet Savage Sentiments.” Kim’s lips curled. “What kind of book is that?” “Let’s not talk about this,” I cut in.
“Why shouldn’t we talk about it?” Kim asked pointedly, eyes narrowing. “How do you two know each other?” This wasn’t good. Kim knew I was more than just a bit socially awkward. Her dark eyes darted back and forth between Jasmine and me, and I just knew she doubted that the new bombshell in school would take an interest in me unless something sketchy was going on.
Oh Kim, you have no idea how right you are. “We were, uh, childhood friends. I haven’t seen Jasmine in a really long time, though. She’s been home schooled,” I blurted out. Jasmine raised her eyebrows. I looked down at the pavement to hide my shifty eyes.
Stupid. Hadn’t I heard somewhere that successful lies shouldn’t be complex? I just couldn’t think with my mind racing and stomach contorting into knots. Jesus, I was overreacting. People did weird stuff all the time, like dive out of airplanes. Was it really so much of a stretch to believe that foxy
ladies who oozed confidence could befriend nerdy chicks? I should have said that Jasmine was into shojo manga or hanging out in used bookstores. But as it turned out it was the perfect lie. Kim didn’t ask anything else. She knew that my childhood or anything having to do with my brother was off limits. Instead she leaned her hip on the stair railing and asked: “Do you want to hang out with us?” Jasmine paused. “Sure,” she said slowly. “My uncle is picking me up. He could give you to a ride somewhere if you want.”
Uncle? Who was coming to pick us up? “Us a ride, you mean.” Kim grabbed Jasmine’s hand and smirked. A nagging discomfort throbbed in my stomach. Kim was trying too hard to be upbeat, probably because she wanted to beat her fists into the pavement and cry. Her mouth stretched back in a smile that showed all her teeth and accentuated the tightness of her jaw, as if she were a New England housewife and Jasmine and I had been
caught using the wrong fork for the salad. Spending time with me wouldn’t banish Kim’s sadness, no matter how much I would have liked to believe it. Jasmine put her hand on Kim’s shoulder and stood. “Are you feeling okay?” Her voice was so soothing that I felt the tension I hadn’t noticed in my shoulders relax. How had Jasmine picked up on Kim’s distress so quickly? I exhaled sharply, chastising myself. I couldn’t quite believe how my stress eased when Jasmine had given comfort to Kim, because I shouldn’t be the one so eager to accept comfort when Kim was the one hurting. “I don’t think we should discuss this right now,” I interrupted. Kim looked down and ground the toe of her hush puppy into a cigarette butt someone else had dropped. “No, it’s fine. It’s not like she won’t hear it from someone else. I’m surprised she hadn’t heard it already.” She looked out at the street contemplatively, as if it were a seascape instead of a great expanse of pavement. “I
was stupid. I let someone in that I shouldn’t have, again. I don’t learn.” Jasmine squeezed her shoulder. “He was an asshole,” she whispered. I was surprised at how fast she’d taken Kim’s side. If Kim was fazed by Jasmine’s response, she didn’t show it. “Yeah,” she said in a voice as fragile as the swift pulse of a captured bird. “I think this might actually be the last time I forgive him. I just wish…” Jasmine leaned in closer to Kim’s ear. They were the same height, I realized. Jasmine’s eyes glinted with something dark, and she gave me a smile that made my whole body shiver. “Do you want revenge?” It was such a simple question. Jasmine’s voice was dark, and it cut through my thoughts, causing my body to shiver. But Kim wasn’t looking at the strange, emerald glint in eyes of the girl that held her. She was cringing, sniffling, face down. Terror built up in me, and turned my hands and shoulders into sculpted ice.
“Yes, but what could I possibly do?” Kim said in a quivering voice. The world spun, the ground seemed to roll, but still I couldn’t move. Jasmine looked at me with a smile. “Let’s pad his car.” *** Fifteen minutes later a red sports car— probably a Mercedes—pulled up next to us. I almost didn’t notice. Kim still hadn’t stopped laughing. It was a shrill, hysterical sound that would have probably made black cats hiss. Luckily there were no cats around. Every time she squeaked she stuffed one of her over sized, poorly-knit mittens into her mouth and looked around with the crazy eye. I still hadn’t recovered from my shock. Pad his car. Jasmine had begun to explain the process, but my mind went blank somewhere in the middle. We couldn’t actually do this…I mean, it had to be illegal. Forneus rolled down the tinted passenger window of the Mercedes. “Are you ready, or do you expect me to wait for
another five minutes?” He spat. Jasmine hugged her chest as if she couldn’t contain herself. “Uncle Forneus!” She squealed. Forneus paled a bit at the word uncle. “Just get in.” Jasmine pulled on the handle of the back doors. When they didn’t budge, she propped her foot up on the trunk, clutched the handle and leaned back trying to pry it open. “Come on ladies,” Jasmine grit between her teeth. Forneus didn’t unlock the back doors. He looked once at me and Kim and curled his lip. “No.” “Uncle!” Jasmine said, sounding like a two year old begging their mother for a new toy. “Absolutely not. I don’t want those two getting their stink in my car.” Our stink? That was pretty harsh, a bit confusing, and deficiently hypocritical considering he left more than just his stink all
over my mom’s kitchen counter. “Hey!” Kim leaped up off the stairs. “We are not—” I waited for her to finish her tirade. Kim would not take that insult lying down. She showered at minimum twice a day. But no more words came. What was going on? I tucked my chin into the collar of my gray wool coat and glanced at her face. I wish I hadn’t. Her lips were pursed, her facial muscles had relaxed, and her eyes were glistening as if she’d just seen Brad Pitt roll down the window. My eyes drifted over to the car. Oh yeah, I’d almost forgot. Forneus was beautiful, with purple hair, purple eyes and a smile that could probably only be described as devastating. Not that I’d ever seen such a smile, or wanted to. After watching him rot and ooze blood on top of my mom’s oven in his “true” form and learning that he’d tried to drag me off to Hell, he’d lost a bit of his sex appeal. “They’re coming,” Jasmine filled the
silence. “We have something special we need to do.” Forneus’ knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “Should I even ask?” Kim gave him a smile that she probably thought was dazzling. Forneus looked like he was about to vomit. “We’re going to pad a guy’s car,” Jasmine said. Forneus’ foot hit the ignition with a bang. The back wheels of the car swiveled from the speed, car swerved once, then “Don’t worry, he’ll be back,” Jasmine said. Kim clutched her hands to her chest and stared at the corner where his car had disappeared behind while going at least 20mph above the speed limit for the school zone. “Are you sure?” Jasmine and I shared a pitying look. “Probably,” I told her, but I honestly hoped he wouldn’t. We could take the bus. It would tack on a few extra hours, but we could just
consider it girl time. Besides, it would probably be fun to pack our pad boxes on the seat next to us. But alas, girl time was not to be. About five minutes later the Mercedes pulled back over to the curb. I wondered how Oz had talked Forneus into picking him up after school. “My car isn’t the one you’re padding, right?” He asked. Kim’s hand flew to the center of her chest and she looked at him as if he’d slapped her. “Of course not. We would never —” Forneus readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Fine. Stop sniveling and get in.” Jasmine took shotgun. As she climbed in next to Forneus, he gave her a look that was a mix between tenderness and distrust. Forenus whispered: “Jesus Christ, you’re juvenile. Will you ever tire of these banal power plays?” For a second I thought that he would caress Jasmine’s cheek as if
he really were her loving uncle. “I think I should be asking you that question, uncle,” Jasmine replied. Forneus sighed and started the ignition, but he didn’t move until he’d met my gaze in the rear view mirror. His eyes narrowed into lethal slits. “You’re a bad influence,” he hissed—yes, actually hissed. I tucked my hands under my legs and looked down. I didn’t think now was the time to bring up the fact that padding the car had been Oz’s idea. Kim’s mouth dropped and she knocked my shoulder. When I looked up she mouthed What the Hell. Great, she was jealous of the attention Forneus was giving me. Stupid Kim. Had she not noticed the fact that he looked and sounded like he wanted to kill me? Nevermind, I didn’t need to answer that question. Jasmine gave Forenus a chastising
look and then looked straight ahead. “We need to stop at Shop Smart first.” *** They were playing cheesy pop and soft rock songs that were popular ten years ago, and Kim sang along to every damn one like she was in the front row of her favorite band’s concert. It was a little over the top for pursuing the feminine hygiene isle. “Wings or no wings?” Jasmine asked with a straight face. “Wings!” Kim stage whispered and, I swear to God, spread her arms out and began to spin around just like that chick did in The Sounds of Music when she was told that she didn’t have to be a nun anymore. It was a cute scene, but I wished she were doing it for some reason other than the fact that she was about to pad a guy’s car. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said to Jasmine. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I think Kim’s gone off the deep end.” Kim stopped twirling and stomped her
heels. “I can hear you, you know,” she said snidely. “Don’t talk about me when I’m right here next to you.” I inhaled deeply. “Fine. I’ll say this to your face, then. You’re acting insane. I mean, sure, the idea of sticking pads on this asshole’s car is a really, really tempting idea, but what if we get caught? You could get suspended. Your parents will be furious.”
You could lose your chance to go to Princeton! Kim put her hands behind her back and began to dance towards me. “Are you really worried about me?” “Yes!” I shouted. I cringed. That came out far louder than I’d intended. But since the other shoppers were avoiding this particular isle like the plague, I didn’t have to deal with their reaction to my little outburst. “Well, don’t be,” Kim replied, as if those words alone could reassure me. “Look. No one is going to talk about this because he isn’t going to tell anyone. Just think about it.
Would a guy like James actually tell someone that…” She fell to the ground, clutched her knees, and giggled hysterically. “Sorry. Do you think he’d actually say that someone…” she buried her face in her hands, “…actually padded his car?” I inhaled deeply. “I see your point. There is a good chance he won’t say anything.” James was one of those guys who thought that menstruation was unnatural. He probably wouldn’t even want to touch his car after this little incident for fear it had been contaminated. “So let’s get wings!” Kim jumped up and flapped her arms around some more. She possessed such a childlike glee at that moment that there was no way I was going to be able to say no to her. I glared at Jasmine. “I don’t know if I should hug you or strangle you.” She lowered her voice and pressed her finger to my lips. It was too intimate of a gesture, and certainly not something that a mere friend did. My stomach started to do flips.
“I’ll collect my payment later,” Jasmine whispered. My blood began to buzz for reasons I couldn’t even begin to understand, and I wondered how I could have forgotten even for a second that the person beside me was Oz. “In all seriousness I do have something I want to say to both of you though before this goes any further.” My voice was shaking. I needed to compose myself. Jasmine and Kim stopped what they were doing and looked at me. I pointed to the three packs of pads, wrapped up all nice and pretty in baby blue and electric pink plastic. “We should also get a box of tampons to tie around his antenna and the handles of his car.” Kim’s eyes lit up, giving the electric pink a run for its money. Jasmine folded her arms over her chest and nodded with approval. “Good idea.” “Second, we need something red to squirt on the pads,” I continued. Good, I was starting to sound like a normal person again.
Not someone who freaked out when one of their girlfriends touched me. “I’m thinking hot sauce, steak sauce, or ketchup.” Kim’s eyes filled with an evil light. “Brilliant!” She called out, trying to subdue the excitement in her voice. It almost worked. “Yeah.” I sighed. “I should be very proud of myself at this moment.” In the end we picked Siracha, because of its chunky texture and spicy scent. My lips curled as I ran my fingertips down the neck of the bottle. Now was a good time to introduce him to the condiment I personally considered to be the most disgusting on earth. The clerk didn’t say anything as he rung up our merchandise. Then again, what guy would have the nerve to remark about such a strange purchase? Forneus was leaning against the window next to the automatic doors, waiting for us. He took one look at the Siracha and his lips curled. “God you’re disgusting, Jasmine.”
Jasmine looked at me with pride. “Actually, it was her idea.” If looks could kill I would have perished on the spot. “Just get in the car and don’t spill anything,” he said evenly. “And I need directions to wherever we’re going.” Jasmine and Kim dashed out the door and raced to the car. Before I could follow behind them, Forneus grabbed my arm and pushed me against the wall of the building behind the stand of fake potted plants. The door closed. I was alone with him, surrounded by the smell of plastic and fabric from the foliage around us. He leaned in closer, until I could feel the gentle touch of his breath on my forehead, and the loud speaker blasted Hanson’s “MMMBop.” “You got him to enroll in school.” The way Forneus said it made it sound like a death sentence. “School’s not that bad,” I told him. Forneus curled his brow and grit his teeth. For a moment he did not look like an impossibly beautiful being, or a rotting,
hapless corpse, but like a monster god from a Tibetan Buddhist mandala. He closed his claw-like grip around both shoulders and held me at arm’s length. My jittery body began to feel pain from being pressed against rough plaster. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said. “And I can’t tell you. It makes all of this much more difficult.” I agreed, but I couldn’t tell him that. I didn’t want to make him any angrier. Where was Oz? Didn’t he notice that I was missing? Forneus continued in a rush: “Tell Azazel that you don’t want to see him anymore. Tell him that you don’t want anything to do with him. Forsake him, Devi. I cannot promise a specific result, but I can promise that I will dedicate the rest of my life to trying to discover what happened to your brother. Additionally I will shield you from my Prince to the best of my abilities, if meeting him still frightens you.” My throat closed. My body began to reach out to him despite the fact that he
scared me. Devils could not lie. If I took this offer he would do all he could to protect me and find my brother. Yet, some part of me that had nothing to do with the guidance of my watchful angel hesitated. “Why?” I choked out. His throat muscles strained as if he were trying to say something but physically could not. He removed his hands from my shoulders, pressed them against the wall on either side of my head and looked down. “It’s probably too late anyway,” he said. He lifted a hand, caught my hair and squeezed it until his knuckles went white. “Neither you nor I can change our natures. It’s amazing how cruel we can be despite our best intentions, or out of ignorance.” The automatic door slid open. “What are you doing, uncle?” Jasmine asked coldly. I could just barely make out her profile through the leafy silhouettes. Her eyes were glowing with such intensity that it would have made living plants look lifeless.
Forneus didn’t bother answering. “I’ll go start the car,” he said and stalked off, leaving me alone in the corner of the store. As I watched him make his way across the parking lot, I noticed Kim’s glare. I wanted to yell through the window that what she’d just witnessed or imagined was not a romantic rendezvous, but she’d never believe me. By now she probably thought Forneus could do no wrong. Jasmine’s small fingers curled around mine. It startled me. I hadn’t even heard her move. “What did he say to you?” I looked down at her and my lips parted. Too much , I wanted to tell her. Questions slammed into my mind. Why is he so afraid for you? What are you hiding from me? “If I stay beside you, is something bad going to happen?” I finally asked. Jasmine’s grip tightened on my hand. “Don’t worry about such things, Devi.” I looked away. Her response hadn’t exactly been a no. It hadn’t even been
comforting. “If you’re keeping something from me I wish you would just tell me now.” Jasmine sighed. “Forneus wants to change things he cannot change. I think that may just be the defining characteristic of devils. If anything bad does happen, know that I accept it.” I turned. “What do you mean if anything bad happens? What is going to happen?” “I don’t know,” she said, and I knew deep in my core, with every cell in my body, that Jasmine was lying. I stepped away from her. “Don’t patronize me. If you’re not going to tell me say that you won’t tell me. I think I can accept that, maybe. But when you lie to me…” I looked back. Those green eyes looked as if they’d been touched by rain. Her caramel cheeks did, too. My throat closed. Did demons always weep so silently? At that moment I wished it was Oz in front of me instead of Jasmine, because I could demand answers from him without fear of breaking him. But Jasmine
was so small. I wanted to protect her from things, just as I’d always protected Kim. No, tried to protect, I amended. I’d always failed during those moments when she needed me most. “Come on,” I said, and took Jasmine into my arms and said the only appropriate thing I could think of at that moment. “It’s go time.” Jasmine shuddered against me from laughter. “Go time? Did you really just say that?” “Yeah,” I said, laughing and telling myself it was because what I said was funny instead of corny. “Let’s get out of here before Forneus abandons us in this dark parking lot.”
Chapter 11 James’ place was only fifteen minutes away, but Forneus huffed as if he’d been driving us around for days. “Alright, you’re here,” he snapped when we pulled up to the corner beneath a dead end sign. Forneus’ eyes narrowed as he looked down the street. Not much of it was visible. James lived at the bottom of a winding hill, and all I could make out in the darkness were the dim glow of the orbs from Forneus’ headlights hitting the fog. But then again maybe Forenus could see more than I could. He was a devil after all. “Jesus,” he sighed. “I can’t believe I’m helping you do this.” I kinda couldn’t believe it either, but instead of saying anything I got out of the car and pulled the collar of my coat around my neck and stuffed my bare hands into my pockets. It was damn cold, and fallen leaves that had just been rained on coated the ground. I took a hesitant step forward. This
street didn’t even have a streetlight, and if I misstepped I would probably slide down the entire hill on my butt. I handed the bag of Siracha to Kim. If that did happen I didn’t want to spill that nasty gunk all over me and reek like James’ soon-to-be-padded car for the rest of the evening. “Thanks?” She said. I suppressed a shiver. Kim’s tongue darted between her softened lips as she looked over her shoulder. “Are you sure Forneus doesn’t want to come?” I glanced back. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” I answered. Kim hunched over and hugged her stomach. “I hope he doesn’t get lonely.”
What? For a moment I couldn’t move. She’d been acting a little strange all evening —had she been smoking something? How could she possibly think Forneus would miss us? His car was back lit by the moon and
steam rose from its wheels. Forneus glared at us from the driver’s seat with eyes glowing with the promise of purple vengeance. And my best friend, who routinely scored highest in her IB classes, was thinking about comforting that demented being as if he were the last kid picked for the soccer team. I shook my head. “I think we should be more worried about him being there when we return.” Or him running us over. Jasmine patted my back and smirked. “Don’t worry. He’ll wait.” With that the three of us slowly made our way down the soggy hillside. The place was woodsy and overgrown so we didn’t have to worry about wandering into someone’s flower bed—only their friendly backyard blackberry bush. My shoes made a lovely sound as they squished in the mud reminiscent of an annoying little girl smacking her lips as she chewed on bubblegum. Thankfully I was ruining my old sneakers and not the clogs my mom had just bought me.
“Where are we going?” Jasmine stage whispered. Kim giggled. “It’s just back a little further.” “Ouch,” I whined as a laurel branch whacked me in the face. “Keep it down!” Kim demanded, giggling louder. I clenched my jaw and stuffed my fists deeper into my pockets. That had really hurt, and besides, I wasn’t making nearly as much noise as she was. “If you keep laughing like that someone is going to call animal control,” I told her. Kim took two steps, grabbed her stomach and doubled over. “Oh God, you’re killing me.” Jasmine grabbed Kim and propped her up on her shoulder. “Think you can go on?” “No,” Kim gasped. “But luckily we’re here.” I looked up and saw the outline of James’ two story white colonial. I couldn’t
see much of it right then since the only light on was the porch light. Still, that was a good sign. His dad probably wouldn’t bust out the door with his shotgun, and we needed some light to get this done. Thankfully James’ car was not parked in the one-car garage. Though I knew nothing about cars, or even what kind of car he had, I could tell it was a pretty nice car for a high school kid. He’d saved money working over a few summers to pay for half of it, and his dad had paid for the rest. That car probably symbolized a lot of lessons learned about life and an appreciation for hard work and here we were, about to trash it and everything it stood for under the cover of night. It almost made me feel guilty. Almost. Jasmine and Kim dropped the supplies on the ground and the three of us tore into them. My jeans were soaked from the knees down, but my hands were shaking so bad I barely noticed. Get a grip, Devi, I told myself as my fingers fumbled over the plastic wrappers. Something wet closed around my
throat. I coughed once and brought my hand to the base of my neck as my vision blurred. A wing from one of the pads was stuck to my index finger, and the plastic made a scraping noise over my jacket.
Angel? I wondered and almost whispered the word out loud. It had to be him, but why was he doing this? Was he punishing me for being so evil—or, more appropriately, so immature? Then I realized the corners of my lips were quirking up and down of their own volition. That tears had collected in the corners of my eyes. That my throat had constricted with the effort of trying to keep in my giggles. I wasn’t dying. I wasn’t being punished with pain. I was having fun. The palm of my hand brushed against my knee as I stood, getting it and the pad wet with mud. It didn’t bother me in the slightest. “You do the honors,” I told Kim. This was an important moment. Probably the
greatest moment of our lives so far (well, excluding Jasmine’s), and I wasn’t going to tarnish it with any mention of “go time.” Kim gazed down at her pad for a moment. Every part of her was still except her hair, which blew round her face in the damp night like Medusa’s serpentine locks rearing to strike. Then she raised the pad to her shoulder like a spear and rushed forward. Her heels skid on the fallen leaves.
Thud. She slammed the pad down on the hood of the car and steadied herself. “Ow.” She turned around, rubbing her wrist. I could just make out her smile in the moonlight. “I think next time I’m going to go a bit easier.” I don’t have an explanation for what came over me after that, only that her little slip and slide routine seemed carefree and I wanted to partake in a piece of it, perhaps to overcome my own nagging fears at the prospect of committing an act of vandalism. “My turn,” I said, raising my pad and propelling forward.
“Wait Devi! Don’t—” I didn’t know who was calling out my name and didn’t care. I raised my pad above my head and leaped into the air. For the first second I smiled as a cool wind that smelled of freshly cut grass blew into my face. Then reality hit me, about a quarter second before I hit the ground. Kim was about 100 times more coordinated than I was and she’d had a difficult time staying on her feet. It was dark. I had no idea where I was going. I don’t even know why I’d jumped in the first place. My feet made contact with the pavement. I was kind of standing, I realized, heartbeat still hammering in my chest. I tried to take a step and realized that I was still falling forward. No, this couldn’t be happening. I was actually flying face first into the hood of James’ car. Maybe the pad Kim had just placed there would cushion the impact. I clenched my jaw shut, and braced myself. Damn, I was going to probably lose
both of my front teeth… Something shimmered in front of me like florescent fish scales. For a second I thought a flashlight had been beamed at the bumper, but that wasn’t it. Light couldn’t ripple like that, nor was it as soft and soothing as those rainbows that burst forth from the bellies of those adorable, pastel colored, caring little bears. A gust of wind knocked into my chest and pushed me onto my back moments before I hit James’ fender. I landed with a soft thud on my back. It hurt far worse than it sounded like it did. Jasmine knelt next to me and took my hand. Strange, I hadn’t even heard her move. She smelled nice—of spices and, well, like jasmine. She pressed her cheek to my forehead. Warm, I thought. “What were you thinking?” She snapped. I rolled my eyes to the back of my skull to get a better look at her. Her nostrils were flaring just slightly, and her green eyes were a little brighter than they should have been, but not in a comforting way. I guess it
shouldn’t have surprised me that she was pissed. “I don’t know. I thought it would be fun if all three of us charged at it like Kim did. I thought she looked kinda cool.” “Oh Devi,” Jasmine cooed, and suddenly I was aware that I’d pulled that stupid stunt in front of the guy I liked. I shut my eyes and thanked God that Azazel wasn’t currently in the form of Oz. “What am I going to do with you?” Jasmine’s voice was softer this time, and a suspicion took form in my mind. Had she stopped me from splattering my brains all over the front of the car? Or had it been the angel? There was no way the wind would have just picked up like that. Kim bent over. Her long hair tickled my cheek. “Was that fun?” “Not really,” I groaned, wishing I could formulate a cheeky response like hers.
Thanks for worrying about me too, by the way. Kim tapped my side with her toe and smirked. “You didn’t look as cool as me,
either.” My eyes narrowed. “Maybe I should pad your face.” Kim just laughed and picked my fallen pad up from off the ground and stuck it on the hood next to hers. A little leaf was hanging off of it. She winked at me. “Alright, it’s time to get serious.” Jasmine helped me to my feet. I leaned against her as we made our way to our supplies, and her grip on my arm was slightly tighter than it had to be. What was worrying her? Was she anxious because her powers had almost been exposed? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t. Not here anyway. We stopped in front of the plastic bags. They made a crunching sound as they flapped in the wind. I exhaled sharply and my left foot began to shake. It was time. There was no going back after this. The three of us shared a conspiratorial smile and started unwrapping pads. It was surprisingly hard to open them in the dark, or at least hard for me. The wings
kept getting stuck to the plastic packages or the backs of other pads. But the result or the process didn’t need to be glamorous to be effective. Jasmine patted me on the back. “Hey, want to lay down your first pad? Just go a little slower this time.” I smiled. Her concern for me was kind of cute. I’d just overlook the fact that it was completely warranted for the moment. My hand still shook a bit, and the plastic itched. Damn nerves. I pressed it onto the car door and reached for another one. Laying down pad after pad felt good. No, incredible. It even looked pretty—like snow that had just fallen from the skeletal branches and indigo sky. Soon all three of us were peeling through pads and slapping them on the car. “Try to make sure each one isn’t attached to another so he can’t just pull them all off in a row,” Jasmine recommended. “Great idea!” Kim exclaimed. “Wait, how many times have you done this?”
“It’s my first time,” Jasmine replied, sounding just a little bit too much like a special someone from that “Ladies” Gone Wild commercial that had plagued my youth. I tucked my chin into my chest to hide my smile. I’d always doubted it had really been that girl’s first time. Kim jumped up on the hood and began plastering them on the top of the car. “We’ve got to get every spot!” “I feel like an 80’s song should be playing the background while we do this,” Jasmine commented snidely. “Yes! 80’s movie montage time!” Kim cried out as she fell to her knees, waved her hair around, and began humming some tune I’d never heard of but would probably be stuck in my head for the rest of my life. Unfortunately her insanity was contagious. Jasmine and I started striking poses on the sides of the car like we were shaking our stuff in Dirty Dancing. Well, actually my robotic moves probably looked more like the Dirty Dancing blooper role, but
Jasmine was a little too good at it. “One of you needs to hose me down while I do this.” Kim said, on all fours and spinning her hips and head like one of those inflatable dancing men they have outside used car lots. “It will be just like the opening credits to Barb Wire!” “Yeah, except Pam Andersen wasn’t wearing a parka while she worked the pole,” I told her. “Also, that film wasn’t made in the 80’s,” Jasmine added. “And she was on a swing, not a pole.” I glared at Jasmine, suddenly reminded that she was Oz, and that Oz had remembered the decade in which that movie had been made. How many times had he/she/it seen Barb Wire, anyway? Heat swept across my cheeks and I couldn’t stop it—nor could I stop my entire childish, petty, unwarranted outrage. “Wait, you actually watch stuff like that?” I whispered. “Oh come on,” Jasmine retorted. The burning crept down the back of my
neck. God, I needed to stop. I couldn’t actually be reacting like this. I never got jealous. I didn’t even have any right getting jealous. But my mind refused to listen. I shoved my hands down my pockets and stalked over to Kim without so much as even glancing back at Jasmine. “Here, I’ll help you down.” Kim lay back so her head and hair were sprawled over the windshield and stuck her tongue out at me. “Now you look a lot more like Tank Girl than the chick from Barb Wire.” She threw something white and fluffy in my face. “Pad bombs!” she cried out. I whacked the flying projectile in midair. “You’ve lost all touch with reality.” In response, Kim just covered her mouth with the back of her wrist, shoulders shaking. “Stop laughing!” I said. “Someone is going to hear you.” But in truth I was laughing just as hard as she was, though hopefully not as loud. I picked the pad—now damp—off
the ground and tossed it at her nose. Jasmine knotted a tampon around the top of the antenna. “Look, it’s just like a flag,” she declared. Kim slid off the roof. Her butt hit the hood with a loud crack and I fell to my knees. My palms hit the ground pretty hard, and I felt little rocks imprinting my skin. I decided they were kind of like battle scars as I looked up at the “tampon flag” flapping back and forth in the wind. Just barely I resisted the urge to salute. “We should put them in more weird places so he won’t notice all of them!” Kim remarked. “Don’t worry about it,” I replied. James was going to check every inch of his baby in the morning, and probably repaint it, too. Jasmine put her hand on Kim’s shoulder, and said: “I think Devi’s right. Besides, I think we’ve pretty much covered the entire thing, and you’re holding the last pad.” Wow, we’d gone through eight packages in about ten minutes. The three of
us stood back a moment to admire the fruits of our labor. It was rather lumpy. “It kind of looks like a pillow,” Kim noted. “I want to curl up and go to sleep on it!” I shook my head. “You won’t after we squeeze on the Siracha—oh wait, maybe you still will.” She swatted my arm. “Hey, I don’t sleep in my food.” “Just on your pads?” I asked. Jasmine snorted. “Devi, I never knew you were this cruel.” “She brings out the worst in me,” I said, pointing my finger at Kim. Kim pulled it. I yanked my hand away. “Gross!” “Hey, I didn’t do anything after I pulled it,” Kim told me as if that made everything better. “Enough of that,” Jasmine said. Glass clinked as she held up the last grocery bag. “It’s time for the best part.”
The Siracha. We were really going to do it. Each of us grabbed a bottle and began to shake. Then we twisted the lids and squirted. The sauce looked black in the dark, and arced perfectly in the air before splattering on the silver pads. For a second I felt like Jackson Pollock, or a bikini-clad cheerleaders hosing off cars at a car wash fund raiser. “Hey, what’s his least favorite song?” I asked Kim. “That ‘Hey Mickey’ song. Why?” I smiled. Good. “Hey Mickey” was an earworm. “I’m going to write it on the passenger door. It’ll be the first thing he sees and he’ll have it stuck in his head while he’s cleaning this thing up.” Kim giggled. “Good idea. I should write some stuff too.” A chill shot through me as she said those words. Uh, what are you gonna write, Kim? I wanted to ask, but the question died in my throat. It was too late to do anything
about it now, I realized grimly as I finished squirting out the lyrics in the most elegant script I could manage. My handwriting sucked, so little driblets spilled off the pads and onto the car. “Damn. Try not to get any Siracha on the car,” I reminded everybody. Pads he could peel off, but sauce might leave a nasty stain. I sucked in my breath, held it and went back to work. Hopefully our vengeance would cause James to curse our names for all time. The promise of his hatred was the only thing that kept me going—the Siracha reeked so bad that I felt like I was about to pass out. “Is it wrong that this smell is making me kind of hungry?” Kim asked. “Yes!” I whined, holding my stomach. Kim cackled. “Okay, okay. I won’t say anything more.” Twenty minutes and three empty Siracha bottles later, I couldn’t even get within a ten foot radius of the car. Still, nothing could keep me from smiling. I hope
James appreciated the care I took in writing it out on the door. Unfortunately James would know immediately who the perpetrators were, since Kim had taken the time to spell out words on the pads like “liar,” “asshole,” “user,” and even one “burn in hell.” I guess it was for the best. At the very least James wouldn’t want to get anywhere near Kim again, since she was now synonymous with feminine products and responsible for the desecration of his motor vehicle. “We should leave before someone sees us,” I said. Or before I vomit. “In a minute. I want to soak this all in,” Kim crowed. What a word smith, she was. Then Kim torqued her heart shaped face to the left and sighed, eyes glistening in the moonlight. “I wish I brought my camera.” “I’ll take a few shots on my cell,” Jasmine replied. She already had her phone out of her pocket. “Great idea! I left mine in the car but I’ll just run to the top and get it—”
Jasmine put her hand on Kim’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll email them to you.” Kim slapped her hands together. “Really? You would do that?” Jasmine raised a brow and chuckled. “Sure,” she said as she began to snap pictures of the car. “It’s gonna suck if we get caught,” Kim mumbled. Yeah, I thought. She should have thought about that before we did it. God, what would I do if this ruined her chances of going to a good college? If her parents kicked her out of the house? If our minor rebellion killed her dreams? How would I be able to live with myself knowing that I was responsible for it all? For a moment it felt as if a needle was twisting its way into my heart. My breath caught in my throat, and my hands clutched at the bottom of Kim’s coat. She turned around, caught my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then, beaming so much that her cheeks must’ve ached, she said: “It was all worth it, though.”
“You won’t get caught,” Jasmine whispered. “No, I might,” Kim admitted, and dashed forward before we could respond. Then she twirled once and raised her hands above her head. “Take one of just me on the hood.” A familiar, comforting weight landed on my shoulder. Jasmine’s cheek was nestled in my coat. “Devi, don’t worry. I wouldn’t have done something like this if I thought there was a chance you or your friend would be punished.” “James is gonna be pretty pissed,” was all I could think of saying. “Nothing will happen to you two, though. I promise.” I think her words were supposed to comfort me, but a nagging, unease began to build in my stomach. “Hey, have you taken the picture yet?” Kim yelled. “Almost,” Jasmine responded, then took it. Kim looked beautiful—no, more than
just beautiful. Every part of her seemed comfortable with herself and strong. She’d raised her small delicate chin high. Her posture was as flawless as a ballerina’s, and she’d raised her left arm into a strong man position and puffed up her parka as if to show us her muscles. And she was smiling in a way that was completely unselfconscious and all the more alluring for it. “Now we have to take some of the three of us together to document this momentous occasion,” Kim said. “Devi, you get in the middle since you’re the biggest. Jasmine and I will get on either side of you.” I crouched down and my two friends knocked their heads into mine. My cheekbones were bruising, and my cheeks were starting to sting from smiling so hard. “Are all of our faces in the frame?” Kim asked. “I have no idea,” Jasmine admitted, laughing. “We better all be in it,” I mumbled. Their
heads were pressed against my temples so hard that I was beginning to get a headache. Plus, the constant flash burned my retina. All I could see was a flickering white light in the distance. “Alright, just one more,” Kim said. “Smile!” I smiled—or at least I tried to. “Let’s see how they turned out,” Kim said. Once we opened up the photos she shrieked: “Devi, what was wrong with you?” It was a good question. I looked like one of those cartoon characters that had been repeatedly beat with a bat, and then told to smile as little stars circled around my head. Only I hadn’t been hit and there were no stars—just my dazed googley eyes and, to my infinite mortification, a little bit of drool hanging on the corner of my smile. “She looks adorable,” Jasmine replied. Kim threw her head back. “Jazz, I know you’ve been home schooled so I’m going to go easy on you. ‘Girl Rule Number One’ is to never lie to your friends about their
appearances. It’s far better to hear this kind of stuff from us than to have the guy she likes run for the nearest bathroom as soon as they see her.” My cheeks burned. The backs of my eyes burned, too. Alright, that was a little harsh. Or maybe it just seemed that way since the guy I liked was right next to me. Jasmine brushed it off. “Oh, I think there might be a few guys who would find this side of her sweet.” Kim sighed. “Maybe if he was morbidly obsessed with Devi. And, yes, emphasis on the morbid. She looks like Dr. Frankenstein just reanimated her in that photo.” “Let’s just go,” I said and started up the hill. “I’m just kidding,” Kim said. I could hear the swift pitter-patter of her footsteps behind me. “Yeah, yeah,” I replied. Luckily the effort it took to make it back up the muddy hill killed the conversation.
Of course Jasmine didn’t mind the hike. She kept repeating encouraging things like: “We’re almost there,” over and over until I was tempted to fall on her. “I really hate you,” I moaned. “Me too,” Kim choked out. “How are you not tired?” Jasmine smiled. “Oh, I’m just a strong, healthy girl.” Yeah right. If I hadn’t already known Jasmine wasn’t human, I would have definitely begun questioning it by now. Our get-away vehicle was still there when we got to the top of the hill. I thought it was nice since I didn’t think I would have been able to make it to the nearest bus stop —or at least I thought that way until Forneus got out.
Chapter 12 I flinched at the sound of the car door slamming, and didn’t even look up when I heard the crunch of footsteps stalking towards us. Though I’d closed my eyes I could see his purple gaze in my mind, covering my every thought with an ultra violet light. The skin at the nape of my neck crawled as if it had been scratched with a long claw. I jolted forward, almost straight into Forneus’ slim frame. He peered down at me and smiled. “Well, that only took forty-eight minutes,” Forneus said bitterly. Jasmine stepped between us. “Thanks for waiting uncle. You’re the best uncle ever.” Forneus caught Jasmine’s cheeks and squeezed them until her lips puckered up like a fish’s. “Say that again and I’m leaving the three of you here,” he replied in an equally sweet tone. His mock affection did little to ease my nerves. Again I wondered
what Jasmine had done to ensure Forneus’ cooperation. Kim grabbed the hem of her parka and curtsied. “You wouldn’t actually leave us here. You’re like our knight in shining armor.” Jasmine’s eyebrows arched in horror. Forneus smirked. Yes he would! I wanted to scream. Please notice the look we’re giving
you. Jasmine—hell, even Forneus— agrees with me. I wanted to run to up Kim, grab her by the arms and shake her until she’d forgotten she’d ever met this “chivalrous” knight. Forneus walked to the driver’s door and leaned against it. “Did you have a good time?” He asked, eyes locked on Kim. She should have noticed that his eyes should not have been such a brilliant violet in the dark, but of course she didn’t. Kim followed the devil’s footsteps to the car and also leaned against it. “That felt good,” she said, looking up at the sky and batting her eyelashes. “Too good, actually. I think I’m going to Hell for it.”
My stomach rolled. Was Kim trying to charm him with such childish innuendo? It wasn’t going to work, and she shouldn’t be saying such things to a guy that could actually take her to Hell. Forneus turned and leaned on his elbow, now only inches from her face. It was the same pose jocks in High School movies take when they’re hitting on a girl next to her locker. “Such a minor act of vandalism won’t even earn you a day in Purgatory.” Forneus slid one finger down her cheek and over her bottom lip. Kim’s eyes fluttered shut. “Gross,” I yelled, but Kim wasn’t listening and Forneus didn’t care. He leaned forward, so that his mouth was almost over the sensitive, pulsing vein of her neck, and drawled: “But if you’re interested in a guided tour I could be of service.” Jasmine rushed forward and smacked him. “Have you no restraint?” Forneus rubbed the place that had just been hit, cringing. So Jasmine had hit him
harder than it had looked. Good. “Don’t you think I deserve something for being so helpful this evening?” Forneus asked. His eyes grew dark as he watched Kim. No, scratch that—they looked hungry. Kim was completely unaware of the subtle nuances. She looked like she wanted to throw herself onto him. Sickness rose in my gut. This could not be happening. Kim had finally gotten James out of her system. Unfortunately she’d replaced him with someone infinitely worse. “Do you want me to pad your car next, Forneus?” Jasmine whispered out of the side of her mouth. Forneus sighed opened the back door. Then he walked to where I stood. “Don’t worry little niece. I’m not going to ravish her in front of our little angel. My appetites aren’t that unrefined.” My hands were gripped into tight fists, shaking from my desire to sink one of them into that smug expression on his face. “You aren’t going to ravish her at all,” I snarled.
Forneus raised his eyebrows and exhaled slowly. Suddenly I had an image of him on a regal throne ordering a man to be drawn and quartered to relieve his boredom. “Devi, even though I was dragged out of my home and forced to witness this grotesque and pathetic act of vandalism, female empowerment, or whatever you want to call it, I will give you some advice.” His lips curled into a predatory smile. “Never let a devil, or a demon, discover what you value.” He glanced over at Kim, who was watching him with a lovey-dovey expression and still hadn’t gotten into the car. “It doesn’t matter if it is an object or person,” he continued. “We will want to take it from you.” I swallowed the ball in my throat. My fists fell to my sides, now loose. “Why are you telling me this?” He lowered his voice. “Because while the novelty of taking her in front of an angel doesn’t really do it for me, the desire to seduce her away from you—a human whose rage and fear is so pungent I can almost
taste it—is almost unbearable.” He smiled again. It was the same sad, painful smile he’d given me in my mother’s kitchen, when his white, cracked lips had contrasted darkly against his sallow skin. “Still don’t understand?” He glanced over his shoulder at Jasmine or Kim, I couldn’t tell which. “The only thing preventing me from doing just that is our mutual friend.” “You’re so crude,” Jasmine enunciated sharply. “But you won’t stop me from saying these things because you know she needs to hear them and you can’t bring yourself to tell her.” He looked over at Kim. “Don’t worry, your sweet, little Kim can’t hear us. In situations like this my little bit of magic is useful.” His magic? I remembered how he was able to stop me from moving or screaming in his home, and how no one noticed when he threatened me in the mall. Could he create illusions or barriers? What was up with this guy?
As if on cue, Kim stomped her foot and called out: “Hey, are you guys just going to stand over there and whisper all night? Stop ignoring me! I’m getting cold.” Then she shot me a narrow-eyed look that told me she’d noticed how much attention Forneus was showering down on me. “We should probably get going unless, of course, you wanted to see what we did,” Jasmine taunted. Forneus didn’t take the bait. “The three of you must be pleased with yourselves.” Kim nodded twice. “Of course. This is the greatest thing I’ve ever done.” Forneus’ visage paled. “Women really are shameless…” Jasmine glared at Forneus. He coughed. “Creatures,” he finished. Then he slid into the car door and fished out some handy wipes from the glove compartment. “Clean yourselves before you get in, please.” “Don’t worry. I will,” Kim babbled, washing her hands, well, shamelessly. “You know, I don’t usually do this sort of thing to
the guys I date.” “I know you were influenced by an evil presence, sweetheart,” Forneus replied. Kim’s cheeks colored at the endearment. Her only reaction was the movement of her fingers. One by one they tightened their grip around the white napkin in her hand. I pushed her into the car. She stumbled, then looked behind and mouthed what the hell? I couldn’t give her an answer. How would I even begin to explain it? And how could I when I didn’t even understand why I was acting the way I was? I glanced over at Kim once we were buckled up. Forneus turned the key in the ignition and Jasmine jumped in the front seat again. Kim didn’t move her eyes from the floor, and she certainly didn’t acknowledge I was sitting next to her. Fine, I could live with her anger on this. I just didn’t want to see her hurt. I would do just about anything to prevent it, I realized. As I watched the streetlights we passed briefly
caused her elegant features to glow, I wondered if she would feel as apprehensive as I did now if she knew that I deeply cared for a demon. I leaned back and bit my lip, trying to stifle my urge to kick the driver’s seat in front of me. This was all that damn devil’s fault. “You know, Forneus,” I said, “my English class is reading Paradise Lost this term, and while I was researching fallen angels I discovered one with your name.” The side of Forneus’ mouth twitched. “Is that so.” “Really?” Kim exclaimed. “Wow, that’s so interesting.” Jasmine cracked a smile and turned her head, suddenly finding the passing scenery fascinating. I straightened my back. “Did you know that the word Forneus is actually Latin for furnus? And that Forneus is connected to sea monsters?” I let the words hang in the air for a few seconds for dramatic effect. “This didn’t make any sense to me. What do
sea monsters have to do with ovens?” Forneus’ hands tighten on the wheel. “Well, that’s all I could find. There was far more information about this fallen angel named Azazel. His wiki page was at least ten times longer than Forneus’ page.” “Hey, I know him,” Kim said. “Wasn’t he like the devil or something?” Jasmine and I started laughing. Kim couldn’t have picked a better time to butt in. “He isn’t the devil,” Forneus said between his teeth. “He isn’t even a devil.” “Oh, I thought he was,” Kim said contemplatively. “Well declared.
you
are
wrong,”
Forneus
Kim looked glanced over at me, taken aback. I shrugged as if to say, that’s just how he is. Hopefully this little outburst had shown her that Forneus was unstable. Forneus slammed on the breaks. “Alright everyone. Out.” He said sharply.
Thankfully we were only a few feet away from my mom’s driveway. I threw open the door, grabbed Kim’s hand and leaped out. Or I tried to leap. Kim wiggled out of my grip and grabbed onto the back of Forneus’ seat. “You could come in, you know, if you wanted,” she murmured as she ran her fingers over the back of his neck. I almost threw up. You’re fondling a corpse! I wanted to scream. Instead I yanked on her arm. “What are you doing—inviting him into my house without even asking me first?” I spat. Forneus looked over his shoulder, met my gaze and grinned. “Oh really? It’s so nice of you to think of me, Kim. How are you ladies planning on spending the evening?” She twirled her hair. “We’re going to watch some movies.” “Oh, I just love movies,” Forneus beamed. Lord he was laying it on thick. It was too much for even Kim. She hated guys who had corny pick-up lines like that. Yes, at
any second she would start laughing right in that pretty face of his. Right Kim? No, wrong Devi. Kim couldn’t have been happier with his phony response. “I really like watching movies, too.” She leaned in closer and pursed her lips. “We’re watching horror movies so it would be nice to have a guy around…” I felt queasy. Was she being serious? Could this girl, who I’d personally seen laugh when people’s intestines were being twisted out of their stomach, or eyes pulled from their sockets, actually be asking someone to put their arm around her when things got scary? Thank God she didn’t finish that sentence. I don’t think I could have held myself back if she did. Forneus sucked in a breath. “Horror movies?” He repeated slowly. “That does sound like fun, but I hope they aren’t too gory. Little Jasmine isn’t allowed to see anything R-rated.” Jasmine materialized in front of me. I had no idea where she’d come from, but I was too afraid to ask. I saw a flash of
piercing green eyes as she picked Kim out of the back seat and set her on the ground. “It’s time for you to go,” she told Forneus in a voice that made my skin crawl. Forneus touched Jasmine’s cheek. “It’s alright. You don’t have to put on a strong face for them. I will go in and personally make sure that they won’t make you watch any movies that might give you nightmares.” Jasmine’s hand closed around Forneus’ but she didn’t remove it from her cheek. “Stop being creepy, uncle.” “Hey, don’t be rude,” Kim chastised. “He was our chauffeur all night, you know. We should at least offer him cookies and milk.” I bit my lip. For Christ’s sake, he wasn’t Santa. Forneus played with the handle of the car door and, for an agonizing second, I thought he would waltz right up to my front door and demand just that. Instead he started the car and gave us a wink. No, me a wink. I fought the urge to stick out my tongue. “It’s alright. I must work
this evening. Though I won’t forget the thoughtful invitation you extended to me, Kim.” He nodded to. “Sweet dreams, Jasmine and Devi.” “I think we should wave goodbye,” Jasmine murmured as backed up. “Good idea,” I replied when he started to make a U-turn. Jasmine curved her lips into a glittering smile and tossed her hand back and forth like she was a back-up singer in one of Glee’s mash-ups. Immediately I mimicked her corny smile and began flailing my arms in the same rhythm. Even Kim joined in with a classier Betty Boop wave. Forneus’ violet eyes flashed for a moment when he saw me and Jasmine. He flipped us the bird before speeding off. “And he calls us juvenile,” Jasmine whispered. “At least he didn’t give us the double burn,” I laughed. Kim kicked a rock as she made her
way up the driveway. “I wonder what he had to do that was so important,” she muttered. We didn’t know it then, but that night Forneus’ wiki page increased by 20 pages. All of it was deleted ten minutes later, however, due to lack of sources. I nudged the door open. Mom hadn’t locked it, of course. The three of us dropped our backpacks and wandered into the living room. Kim fell on her stomach in front of the TV and started sifting through the movies I’d just rented from Netflix: Heaven’s Asylum , Hellraiser III and The Stand. I leaned on the wall. “We watch a lot of horror movies,” I told Jasmine. “Preferably bad ones, although these three really aren’t bad.” “No need to justify your choices to me,” Jasmine replied. “I think we need to watch this one tonight,” Kim said, holding up Heaven’s Asylum. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen it— almost as much as I can’t believe that you
just insinuated that The Stand is a good movie.” “It is!” I yelled over my shoulder as I made my way to the kitchen. “I’m burning the popcorn unless you take that back.” “You’re gonna burn it anyway,” Kim called out me. I rolled my eyes and grabbed a package of popcorn from the cupboard. I could just barely make out the sound of her hushed voice—probably saying something embarrassing about me to Jasmine—over the incessant buzzing of our ancient microwave. Two and a half minutes later I pulled the popcorn out. My nose immediately wrinkled. It was burnt, but hopefully not all of it. I shook the bag at Kim when I got back into the room. “See, you shouldn’t have disparaged The Stand.” Kim took the package of popcorn and dumped its contents in a bowl. “Let’s just watch the movie.”
I let her take the first bite of popcorn and looked at Jasmine. Her dark hair and skin looked stunning against the new, white couch. No, six years didn’t really qualify as new, I reminded myself—though that didn’t stop me from thinking that way. She leaned against her hand and set her other on the cushion beside her. “Sit next to me.” I took a step forward, hesitated. Jasmine’s blue shadow crept closer to me over the couch’s white surface. I turned my back, shut my eyes and sat down next to her. Her knee squished against mine. We were so close, I thought. My clammy hand grabbed hers, trying to dispel the eerie sensations that quietly haunted me with the warmth of her skin. Not now, I thought, focusing my gaze on the TV. Our hero had just lost his faith in God after receiving a vision of angels brutally tearing each other apart while he prayed for the salvation of his dead, un-baptized child. Jasmine’s grip on mine tightened for a brief second. I dropped my gaze from the
TV’s artificial glow and swallowed. How could I have been so stupid? I hadn’t even considered how seeing a movie about fallen angels would affect her. “We don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” I whispered so Kim wouldn’t hear. Jasmine tilted her head to the left and smiled. She didn’t look disturbed at all, but that could have just the lighting or the fact that she rarely appeared to be bothered. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “But you don’t seem to want to sit here.” I shifted in my seat. She’d figured it out, and here I’d thought that I’d been subtle. Even Kim didn’t know what this couch meant to me. “It’s not you and I’m fine,” I said, unsure of whether that was a lie or not. I usually found scenes about angels, demons and devils fighting corny, but I felt the hero’s internal struggles on such a visceral level. Had my father ached like that? What had caused someone so devout to lose faith, or at least make him decide that he no longer wanted to live?
It was you, a sinuous voice in my mind answered. Perhaps my father had known instinctively that I was spiritless—saw the sins I was incapable of cleaning from my body as if they were a stain. You belong to my Prince, Forneus had said. What would it have been like for a father to look at his own child and know that such a thing carried his genes, and that he had been responsible for bringing it into this world? I gripped Jasmine’s hand tighter, tighter, and sank deeper into my seat. I couldn’t look at the TV anymore. I was glad Kim was on the floor, glued to the screen. I was even more thankful that Jasmine was beside me holding my hand, or allowing me to hold hers. When I opened my eyes again Kim was already asleep. The digital clock read 2am. Oh well, she’d lasted longer than she usually did. “It’s true, you know,” Jasmine whispered beside me. I jumped, having forgotten that she was there.
I met her gaze. “What is true?” I asked. Her face changed color in the darkness— from blue to white to red. “That it’s never good to meet an angel. Seeing one always preludes punishment or sacrifice,” she said, placing her hand to my cheek. The gesture could almost be described as intimate, or perhaps it was. I leaned into her hand and she cupped my chin, and ran her thumb over my lips. Instinctively they fell open and my tongue flicked forward, tasting a hint of salt. I flew into a pile of pillows on the far end of the couch, well out of her reach. “What are you doing?” Jasmine pursed her lips. Her cheeks looked as flushed as mine felt. “Did that frighten you?” My heartbeat refused to slow. Um, yes. “No,” I lied. “It was just unexpected.” Jasmine leaned forward, covering the distance between us. The heat from her body permeated my skin. “Do you feel more comfortable around me when I’m Jasmine?”
She asked, surrounding me with the scent of cinnamon. That’s right. Jasmine was really Oz. Oz had almost kissed me. Now Jasmine was almost kissing me? My hands felt shook. My breathing sped. “I don’t understand.” “Do you feel more comfortable because you don’t think that I want to kiss you when I look like this?” Her voice lowered. “That I don’t want you?” My throat closed. Kim snored lightly, her face peacefully resting on the floor. “You need to stop. Kim might—” “She’s asleep,” Jasmine interrupted, then took my hand trembling hand and brought it to her lips. They were soft and warm, and my skin tingled. Slowly she turned my hand over and kissed the underside of my wrist. My breathing deepened, became more rhythmic. “Do you like me better when I look like this, Devi? Do I scare you less?” I whimpered. She brought her own cheek to my wrist and rested on it. “Your
pulse is too fast. This really is confusing you, isn’t it? Would you rather I change back into Oz?” “No,” I said, startled that I’d meant it. “Stay like this a little bit longer. Just be close to me. There aren’t many people I feel comfortable with, and there isn’t anyone I feel as comfortable with as you. That probably sounds weird, because I’ve only known you a few days—” “It’s not so weird,” she interrupted quietly. “You would say that,” I replied, shutting my eyes. “You asked if I felt more comfortable with you like this, and, well, it’s true. I don’t think that you desire me when you look this way. You just seem like the friend I’ve always wanted but haven’t had since my brother disappeared.” Heaviness hung over my eyes, and with it that dry, slight burning sensation that happens just before you cry. “Remember when I told you that I haven’t felt whole since he left? I meant it. A part of me is missing, and when I get closer to someone else I feel
that distance within myself more. When Oz gets close to me…” Something cool and damp assailed my eyes. Futile, weak, pathetic tears—these feelings that reminded me that I was powerless to change anything, or even take back what I wanted. I swallowed, as if I could swallow them as well, but all I felt was a lump in my throat and more of that endless, confusing sorrow streaming down my cheeks. “When you try to kiss me,” I continued blindly, “I feel like you’re digging into me to look for something even more fragile and incomplete than what is on the surface, and I don’t want you to find whatever it is. I don’t want to even recognize that part of me. I don’t want to feel myself shatter again…” Jasmine pulled me to her chest. I pushed my head into her shoulder, rubbing my eyes into her shirt. “You know, you also make me feel things when I’m Oz that I don’t want to feel, and it scares me.” I froze. Was she telling the truth? How could that even be?
Jasmine rocked back and forth. “Do you think this would change if you knew what happened to your brother? What if it only made things worse? What if you discover something you were never meant to know?” “I’ve considered that and it doesn’t matter,” I replied in a muffled voice. “I need to know, because the part of me that I loved most was stolen.” A musical sigh escaped her lips and skirted over the skin behind my hear, comforting and warm. “We’ll make your angel materialize tomorrow, Devi.” “What? How can you say that?” She released me. “I know how to make him come out. Oz will pick you up after school.” Jasmine sounded as if someone was strangling her, or something inside of her was expanding to the point that she would burst if she moved. I didn’t want to acknowledge that sadness for fear it would paralyze or consume me as well. “You’re not coming to school tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “You seem to keep me and Oz separate in your mind, and at least for now I would like you to continue doing that. After tomorrow I want you to still trust some part of me.” She gave me a weak smile. “I won’t do anything else to upset you tonight.” I hunched my shoulders and returned my gaze to the TV. Soon I curled up against her and she began to pet my hair. Why couldn’t we just remain this close without the expectation or desire for something more? My hand enclosed hers as if I could hold that moment forever. But soon it was the end of the film, and the renegade angels learned that though they were more perfect than man they would always be second to him—and that destroying Heaven would bring about the destruction of everything else in existence, including Hell.
Chapter 13 Kim dumped her lunch tray next to mine. “He isn’t here,” she whispered though there was no reason for her to keep her voice down. It was nearly impossible to hear anything over the clatter of utensils and shrieking girls in the lunch room, and even if someone could hear us it wasn’t like it was unusual for Kim to talk about James. I just nodded and continued chewing my beans and rice. “Well, what do you think that means?” Kim continued in a louder, shrill tone. “Keep it down!” I whispered, looking around the lunch hall as if James’ padded car was going to bust through the wall at any moment. I took a deep breath. Stop it. You’re acting crazy, I told myself. Kim needed to settle down before her paranoia infected me. “Look,” I continued, “no one has mentioned his car being padded, and I doubt he would tell anyone. The other guys on the football team are just as afraid of
menstruation as he is.” Kim picked up her fork and started swirling it around in her rice as if it were spaghetti. “They’re saying other things,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard me. Maybe she hadn’t. “He has a game today, and you know how the coach won’t let them play unless they come to school.” I nodded. …Okay? She swallowed. “He’s the quarterback. You understand what that means, don’t you?” “Yeah,” I said, though in all honesty I had no idea what she was babbling about. Kim plopped her palms on the table and scooted back in her seat. “You don’t get it, do you?” I fought the urge to shrug. The subtle nuances of High School sports eluded me. “Look, remember what Jasmine said? Just don’t say anything. No one can prove it was us.” Kim crouched over and surveyed the
room with feral eyes. “Where is Jasmine, anyway? I swear to God, if she dropped out of school I’m going to hunt her down—” “I think you’re overacting,” I interrupted. Kim’s dark brown eyes locked onto mine. “Maybe, but where is she?” My heartbeat skipped. It was a good question, and I didn’t have an immediate answer for it. I wish I’d grilled her a little more last night when she’d hinted that she wouldn’t be coming to school. Though in my defense I’d believed that I would see her in the morning. But neither Kim nor I had noticed her sneak out of my house. Jasmine had left behind a note telling us she had to go home early because she wasn’t feeling well. “I don’t know,” I answered lamely. Kim looked down and kicked her foot against my chair. “I’m a little worried.” I sighed. Her hair looked stringy and lackluster, and she had thick, purple bags under her eyes that had nothing to do with a lack of sleep. I couldn’t stand to see her like this. “You know what Jasmine said. Don’t be
worried,” I told her. Kim looked up at me as if I’d slapped her. “So I should just stop worrying because Jasmine said something?” I bit my lip. Alright, I should have realized that was the wrong approach. Kim continued before I could say anything more: “What do we even know about Jasmine, really? You haven’t seen her in years as far as I know. I mean, she’s supposedly you’re childhood friend, but you’ve never even mentioned her before.” Those were all good points—actually, really good points considering they were all lies I’d constructed to get her to trust a demonic being. I shut my eyes. God, I was the worst friend in the world, but freaking out over it now wouldn’t solve anything. “Listen, if worse comes to worse just say that you don’t know anything.” Kim threw down her fork. “Like James would believe that.” “Well, what evidence does he have?” I asked. “For all he knows, the freshmen
football players might be getting back at him for hazing them so bad.” Kim cracked a smile. “They don’t have the balls to do something like that. Also, they aren’t that creative.” I slouched in my seat. She had a point there. If they’d wanted to get back at him they probably would have done something like draw a dick on his locker or stick their dirty socks down their shirts and swat his ass with a towel. “Look, bottom line is he can’t prove anything.” Kim shook her head. “He knows I love Siracha, Devi.” “Maybe he won’t be able to tell it was Siracha,” I told her. Kim just glared at me. “Okay, so he’ll know it’s Siracha. That doesn’t mean anything. Just say that one of the other girls he’s screwed over framed you.” Kim took a bite out of her roll and chewed slowly. “I just hope you’re right about
all this. I probably should have thought things over a bit more before I we did it, but I didn’t.” I didn’t say anything for a second. Regardless of whether or not Jasmine was telling the truth, I wouldn’t let anyone punish her for something like this. I’d just say that I did it. I could take the heat from the football team, probably. And I hadn’t even thought about applying to college yet, let alone to Princeton. Something tapped my wrist. “Hey, earth to Devi. What are you thinking about?” “Not much,” I muttered. “Yeah right. I’ve been trying to get a response out of you for nearly two minutes.” She leaned back in her chair. “We should go out after school. Do something fun.” “Can’t,” I said, hoping she would leave it at that. Of course she didn’t. I never said no to her. “Why not?” She asked, popping a
grape in her mouth. To any casual observer that flippant gesture probably looked innocent, but I knew Kim. She was gearing up to launch a relentless psychological attack. “Just something.” I replied, and stuffed a handful of chips in my mouth and chewed very, very slowly. Try to counter that, I thought smugly. “Is it a guy?” I almost choked. How had she guessed so fast? No, she still doesn’t know—she can’t, I told myself sternly. As long as I acted like that question meant nothing to me she wouldn’t figure it out. I exaggerated my chewing motions and pointed at my mouth. There, that should buy me some time. Kim raised a brow. “Well, just nod if it’s a guy. Or, you know, answer me when you finish chewing.” I stuffed more chips in my mouth. She leaned forward, eyes lit with a curious fire that made me quiver in my seat. “Really? It’s a guy? Oh my gosh, I can’t
believe it’s a guy! What’s his name?” This wasn’t going to end well. Why had I thought I could keep something like this from her? “Oz,” I stated with a mouth full of halfchewed chips. “Oz?” She repeated slowly. “So it’s another mysterious person I don’t know with a weird name. Is he perchance a childhood friend of yours?” “Uh, I don’t know,” I said. Kim put her index finger beneath my chin and tipped up my head. “You don’t know?” My cheeks were burning, and the heat emanated from my skin onto her cold hand. I swear to god I could feel it heating up under my chin. A high-pitched wail resounded in my ears. The bell. Oh Lord, what a beautiful sound! I snatched my threadbare jean backpack and stood. “Is he picking you up after school?” Kim kept going as if the bell hadn’t rung.
My toes curled. It wasn’t like I could lie in this situation. I mean, if I said he wasn’t and then she waited for me and he showed up, it would look really bad. I sighed. “Yes.” She winked. “Well, good. I’ll wait with you for him. I’d like to meet this Oz. Meet you at the steps after school,” she said and dashed off. I dragged my feet as I walked back to class and tried to think of something good that could come out of all this. All I saw were a series of horrifying images in my mind— Kim asking me if I’d kissed my boyfriend yet in a sing-song voice, Kim calling me in the middle of the night to ask how “it” went, Kim cutting out pictures of wedding dresses and pasting them on my locker. Well, I guess I could identify two good things about her learning about Oz. Though it was all at my expense, she was happy. And at least it had gotten her mind off James. *** The two of us huddled next to each other on the steps. Neither of us could stop
shivering, and my knees kept knocking into Kim’s, but she only shot me a death glare once. We watched in silence as the other students got into cars, the bus, or wandered off to their after school programs. Soon it was just us and a few skateboarders in the vacant lot. They didn’t seem to mind that we were on the steps and kept jumping them or doing a five-oh on the rail. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to impress us, scare us from their turf, or kill us. “Are you sure you’re meeting somebody?” Kim’s asked, teeth chattering. “He’s coming,” I said. “Though I understand if you want to leave.” Kim huffed. “I’m not going to be the one to leave you out here in the cold all alone.” I smiled grimly. She was really being sweet, and it touched me even though this was the one time I really wished she would get lost. “Thanks.” Kim rubbed her hands between her thighs and exhaled a puff of white that quickly dissipated in the dry air.
“You’re nose is red,” I told her. She rolled her eyes. “So is yours, and at least I’m not meeting up with a guy.” “I bet Oz will like it,” I muttered. “I’m sure he will. A guy with a name like Oz probably likes some pretty weird things.” She smirked. “I bet he’d consider that picture Jasmine took of you last night to be pretty cute, too.” I glared at her, about to say something scathing and smart, I’m sure, but a beat-up sky blue Volvo lurched up to the curve. A deep, rumbling sound pierced the air, then died. Immediately one of the kids circling us fell off the back of his skateboard. “What is that?” the kid groaned in awe as the car sunk on its wheels, surrounded by a cloud of impenetrable black smoke. Oz leaned over the passenger seat and manually rolled down the window. “Hey Devi. Sorry I’m late.” I glanced over at Kim. It seemed like smoke was oozing off her, too. Damn, she was never going to let me hear the end of
this. She probably wouldn’t even let me get in the car. “You should be sorry, making her wait out here for fifteen minutes in the cold,” Kim cut in before I could get a word in. Oz smiled. “You must be Kim. I’ve heard so much about you.” “All good things, I’m sure,” Kim replied to him but looked at me. On second thought, maybe she was saying that to me. She leaned her hip into the door, preemptively blocking any attempt I might have made to slip inside and escape. “I always feared that when Devi finally got herself a boyfriend it would be someone like you.” Kim’s eyes narrowed as she evaluated him again. “At least you don’t look nearly as creepy as I thought you would.” For some reason Oz found that comment hilarious. “Does she usually date creepy guys?” “Okay. I think it’s time for us to go,” I said, pushing on Kim’s shoulders.
She didn’t budge. In fact, neither of them listened to me or acknowledged my existence. Kim plopped her elbows down on the open car window. “When was the last time you took this wreck into the shop?” “Not that long ago.” Oz flashed a toothy grin. Kim rolled her eyes, probably thinking he was an idiot. “Uh huh, when?” He patted the dashboard. “It won’t break down, if that’s what you’re worried about. It just had trouble suppressing its excitement to pick-up Devi today.” The corner of Kim’s mouth quirked up. “Wow. Just wow,” she said, taking a step back and shaking her head. “Do you seriously want to drive off with this guy?” I swatted her with my backpack. She caught it and, for a second, her irritated, worried-best-friend mask slipped. Kim folded her arms over her chest. “Just remember that I know who she got in the car with. I should get your phone number
and address while we’re at it,” she said, chewing on her lips to prevent them from smiling. Oz gave her Morrison’s address and phone. “You didn’t tell me he worked at your place, Devi!” I swallowed as my neck and cheeks flushed. “Well, you don’t like it there.” “Yeah, but it’s perfect for you,” she replied, giving me a quick hug. “Or maybe not. If you end up hating each other you’ll have to find a new place to hang out.” “I’m sure you’ll help me.” I glanced at Oz. “We probably should get going.” Kim opened the door for me. “Well, tell me all about it tonight.” She lowered her voice. “Or tomorrow, you know, if you’re too busy this evening to call.” Could this possibly get any more mortifying? I cowered in my seat and wished I had a hood to pull up over my head. “Don’t worry, I’ll get her home safe.”
There was an edge to his voice, and I couldn’t put my finger on where it had come from, or what it meant. We said our goodbyes and took off. I watched Kim glare at me in my rear view mirror as we drove out of sight. “Kim missed Jasmine at school today,” I said, mostly to fill the silence between us. He looked ahead unflinchingly. “I’m not going to let her get hurt. I know how important she is to you, and no matter what happens I will keep my promise.” I shifted in my seat, trying to push down the weariness in my stomach his tone had ignited. Padding someone’s car was bad, but it wasn’t that bad. He made it sound like someone was about to die. “Um, where are we going?” I asked, changing the subject. Oz ignored my question completely, or maybe he hadn’t even heard it. “Kim really cares for you. She wants you to be safe.” He glanced at me. Desperation flickered in his eyes, and something akin to panic spread over my skin.
“Yeah, we’ve been together for a long time,” I told him, struggling to keep my voice even. “It’s not just that. She loves you, Devi.” He returned his eyes to the road. “Do you really want to do this?” My mouth went dry. I still didn’t know what we were doing. I’d assumed we were going to try to get my angel to come out—I mean, that’s what he’d told me were would do last night. I slouched in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “Do you think the heat is working yet?” “Yeah, sorry,” Oz said and pushed it up all the way to high heat. “I don’t always notice those things.” “Meaning you don’t feel heat or cold?” “No. I like them both equally. Neither one feels bad because I can’t die, like you.” He grimaced at that last part. “Where are we going?” I asked again but in a quieter voice.
“Across the bridge. Under the docks. Warehouse district.” He sounded like Christopher Walkin reading a Dr. Seuss book, only it wasn’t funny. It was kind of the creepiest thing I’d ever heard in my life. We drove the rest of the way in silence. It was only ten minutes away, but somehow it felt both shorter and longer. I stared out the steamed-up window, trying to catch a glimpse of the pale glow of city lights through the fog. A part of me wanted to remember every second of this day—to cling to it as if it were my last. I’m not sure why, though it probably had something to do with the fact that I still felt cold regardless of how much hot air blew in my face from the plastic dashboard. The car crept off the highway and into the warehouse district. No one was around at this hour. Actually, it was usually empty at any hour. I kind felt like a cat burglar as we moved down the open but isolated streets. There was something almost beautiful about this place, with its railroad tracks embedded in the cobblestone and brick streets. Blocky,
crumbling buildings lined the sidewalks. They looked like the kind you’d see on an Indie album cover. Everything was painted with chipped white, red or blue paint, with over sized block-letter signs and no trees or sign of life, human or otherwise. There wasn’t even any litter. The car crawled to a stop in an open lot in front of the river and I got out. I could vaguely hear the cars humming on the overpass. Clouds hung low in the sky and mist rose off the river. My eyes fell shut and I inhaled the scent of smog and moisture, feeling as if I’d stepped into another world. In a way I had. This abandoned wayside was so different from the vibrant, overpopulated city, and it seemed especially alien when you compared it to the old growth woods on the fringe of town. Oz slammed the door and walked straight to the side of the building. He didn’t look back. I doubted he would have protested if I didn’t follow, but I did. “What now?” I asked. I wasn’t scared anymore, though I should have been. I just
always trusted Oz. Perhaps such trust was foolish or unwarranted, but I trusted him nonetheless. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into his arms. “Ask your angel to come out, Devi. Beg him.” I could feel his body shaking beneath mine, and his breath, coming too quickly. “Just one last time, please.” “Alright.” I closed my eyes, as if that would bring me closer to this thing I’d never seen, never touched and would never touch, no matter how many times I’d reached out to him. “Please come out,” I said, and held onto Oz’s leather jacket tighter. “I know you don’t want to, maybe because you don’t like me, but I need you…” I stopped and looked up into Oz’s face. This is stupid. He doesn’t want to come. He’ll never come, I wanted to tell him. But I didn’t. Oz already knew. His green eyes narrowed and he let go of me. “I care for you too, Devi. We don’t have to do this now, or ever, if you don’t want
to.” I sighed. Let’s go back to the car, then. I raised my fingers to my lips, felt my eyes open far too wide. How could I have even thought such a thing, even for a moment? What was I turning into? I was changing too much, too fast. Every day I let pass without thinking of my twin brother allowed more distance to fill the space between us. I couldn’t afford to be a coward —to let him slip away again. “I need to know. If finding my angel is the only way then I will do it,” I said, more to myself than to him. “But you need to tell me what it is I’m supposed to do, and why you’re acting so weird.” Oz stepped back and nodded, face encased in shadow. “I thought you’d say that.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, flipped it on its side and unlocked the safety. “Uh, Oz…what are you…?” He looked over my head and his eyes locked onto something I couldn’t sense. The
angel. My heartbeat sped. Was he going to shoot it? Could you even shoot it? “I know you can tell I’m telling the truth,” he stated coldly. “And I know that you know what I intend to do. It’s unnecessary to go this far. Just come out, for her sake.” For a few moments he stood still. Nothing happened. The only movement came from the constant stream of wind which blew dark strands of hair in front of his face and beads of moisture into mine. “Fine,” he said. He looked at me, then. His face was emotionless, as if I were staring into rock instead of a human face. No, but then he’d never been human in the first place. A stab of pain shot through my heart, as if pierced by ice. My pulse raced. And yet I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare into those eyes as impenetrable as the forest at night. “I am going to shoot her in the lung. Then I’m getting into my car and driving down to Bad Moon for a drink. If you’re not out here in five minutes she’ll be dead.”
Chapter 14 They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. Mine didn’t, or at least not all of it. Only the memory of the other time I’d heard a gunshot assailed me. I hated everything about that sound—it was bones cracking; a squirrel getting fried on a power line; instant, brutal death. The first time I’d heard it had been when my father had taken the family camping. I wasn’t anywhere near the gun, but the bullet didn’t care. The snap had echoed through the woods until it reached me in the corner of the cabin. My body reacted viscerally, almost as if the bullet were tearing through me instead of the deer. All I could remember next was me, hiding beneath the bunk bed, crying about something I didn’t understand, and shivering as if that movement could prevent that sound from splitting me in two. It was almost as if that little girl I was in the past had been reacting to this moment—this horrible, horrible pain, as it ripped through me as if I
were made of air. My eyes creaked open and met Oz’s emerald gaze. He didn’t flinch when I collapsed onto the wall, slid down it as if I’d been shot in a dramatic scene at the end of a movie. My palms hit the brick behind me and skid, scraping off the first layer of skin. I barely felt it. It hurt so bad I couldn’t scream. I didn’t even cry. Any movement I tried to make incited the agony in my lungs. Heat seared my center, clawed up into my throat. I opened my eyes again. Oz was gone, replaced by mist. Tires screeched. He was driving away, leaving me here in the care of that angel who had never come when I’d asked or begged, or on even one of the countless nights I’d spent crying out for my brother. Something wet ran down my cheeks. It stung like acid, but I couldn’t stop it from coming. Why hadn’t Oz told me? Why did it have to happen like this? I would have let him kiss me before he did it—no, demanded it. I wanted a memory like that if I was to go. Not his uncaring, distant face. Not
the cold air on my lips, freezing the tears on my skin and my mouth. Those weren’t tears on my mouth, I realized as a metallic taste drowned my tongue. It was my blood, bubbling up from inside me, out of me.
Angel, does it make you feel good to watch me die? Is this what you’ve waited for all this time? The fog before me began to glow, then expanded like ripples on a pond of liquid gold. No, it was more brilliant than that— more brilliant than any light I’d ever seen, save the one that had eclipsed my brother. The light surrounded me, made my skin shimmer like a million crystal fish scales. Warmth cascaded down my stiff, cold limbs, replacing the intolerable heat inside me. It filled every cell, as if it had lent me its grace. I began to cry, though for a reason other than the pain. I didn’t care about the fact that each sob tore the inside of me apart—the places where the light hadn’t yet touched. Did my brother experience bliss like this
right before he left? Is that why he’d looked back at me with those sad eyes? Had some part of him wanted to leave me because this light—this beautiful, holy light—was more precious than anything that he could find on earth? Did he think it was greater, even, than the love we had for each other? A white hand cupped my face. I grabbed the wrist with my own hand, staining it my bloody fingerprints. “Devi,” a low voice said. I looked up into its face, slowly because it still hurt to move. Then I saw him, kneeling before me. My heartbeat hammered in my throat. No, something was wrong. This couldn’t be happening. I would have screamed if I had the strength. I would have buried my fists into that flawless face. Instead my grip tightened on the man’s wrist, and my nails sunk into his soft skin. He made no discernible reaction to my jab. Instead he wrapped his four wings around my body. A feather caressed my neck.
Of course he felt nothing when I scratched him. He was my angel. This blond, blue-eyed man with a face that looked as if it had been carved by marble, then brought to life by a kiss from the muse of poetry. This face, which should have been too perfect to have ever existed, had haunted me from the moment I first saw it. The moment it had taken everything that I loved from me. The man in white. This had to be a mistake. Why was he here? How could he be the one? I tried to raise my legs to kick him away but my knees just floundered. The effort it took was too much for me—I coughed blood onto his chin.
I hate you. I don’t know if I’d spoken the words aloud, or if I’d merely said them in my head. I hated the feeling of his hands on my skin. I hated the refinement of his perfect features. I hated this light that called to me and healed me. My tears mixed with dirt and blood—
cold and wet. “I hate you,” I whispered. He gathered me in his arms and pressed his fingers to my mouth, closing it. “Don’t strain yourself.” I had to look at him again, though it hurt. Maybe that’s why I needed to look. I didn’t want him to be beautiful. I didn’t want his light to soothe me. I didn’t want his touch to heal me. It was unbearable that he that devastated me would also be the one to save me when I was too weak to turn him away. “Let me die,” I croaked. He stopped and gave me an aching gaze, as if it hurt him for me to even think that he would do such a thing. His hand fell over my wound. It hissed as he made contact, and then that brief pain faded to his warmth. It was as if everything he touched was blessed. “No,” I sobbed. His arms held my body in an iron grip. The light that radiated from him was relentless and so akin to love. I wanted to fall
asleep in it, to wrap myself in it forever. And, yes, I loathed him for that as well.
No, I thought. Stop. Leave me here. Disappear into that world of heavenly light I cannot enter. I glared at him, trying to say it, but my consciousness was slipping. The darkness was coming for me, and I felt myself ease into it. I grit my teeth and reached for him, gripping his arm as tight as I could. “It’s alright to sleep,” he said, and something lush and smooth pressed against my cheek. His voice drugged me. I couldn’t resist any longer. My mute protests disintegrated like a pearl in wine on my tongue. I allowed my head to fall on his shoulder and released one last sigh before I slipped into the darkness completely. *** Something was shaking me—a hand with a firm grip on my shoulder.
No, the angel, I thought. The angel is
back. That angel. “Let me die!” I wailed, whipping my arm off the floor, kicking the crouching figure in the shins. “Devi!” A rich voice called out. The man jumped on top of me, pinning my arms to the ground. “Stop! Devi, it’s done!” I pushed against the man. Useless, he didn’t even notice, didn’t budge. “I hate you!” I screamed with all my strength. My eyes flew open and slowly adjusted to the dim twilight. “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again,” I rasped. “Just leave, leave…” The figure let go. “I’m so sorry.” There were tears in that voice. The sound enkindled a memory, something Oz had told me once. Angels couldn’t cry. “I had to give you a big wound to force him to come out. I had to break you open…” The voice cracked. I raised myself up off the ground onto my elbows. “Oz?” I whispered. It was him. His hands were planted on
the pavement near my sides, and he was crouched above me but not touching me. The lights from the city across the river and the cars on the overpass illuminated his high cheekbones, slightly crooked nose, and bad haircut. “Oh Oz,” I sobbed. “What took you so long?” He exhaled. He smelled like imported beer, leather and cigarettes. Like my kind of heaven. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down next to me on the pavement. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” I said. His dark matted hair was a bit longer than it should have been, his leather trench coat way too worn and soft under my fingertips. There was no incandescent light, just this flawed, wonderful being. He trembled. “I thought you were cursing me just now. I thought you’d never forgive me for…” I laughed. It sounded a little hysterical. “I don’t think I will. It hurt like hell.” “Yeah,” he croaked.
“Yeah,” I repeated. “That and you didn’t even bother telling me what you were about to do.” He paused. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Bad excuse, I thought. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “I wish you did,” I said slowly. “I wouldn’t have let you leave without kissing me first.” He tensed. “What?” “I think you know what,” I said, and pushed him all the way onto his back. Now it was me pinning his hands to the ground. My heartbeat was racing, and my arms were trembling. I ignored it. “I would have done this,” I told him as evenly as I could, and brushed my mouth against his. His lips were chapped and his stubble felt rough against my chin. He tasted even better than he smelled—like beer and leather, minus the cigarettes—like everything earthly and forbidden.
Let me tempt you, I thought and pushed into him harder. I could fall with him. His touch could drown out those otherworldly lights. I wouldn’t allow myself to desire them more than this—the buzzing in my blood, the sweet, aching bliss that pumped through my veins. For a moment he was still. His breath caught in his throat, and then his left hand slipped under my shirt. It was cold against my hips, and my skin tingled instinctively as it slid over my back. He brought me down over his body, so that I could feel his heartbeat throbbing in my chest. For a second, his lips parted over mine. Yes, I pleaded silently. Fill me until I can’t see or
feel anything but you. Suddenly something rough slipped between us. A rush of cold air hit my face. “Why did you do that?” Oz had put his hand over my mouth. I was breathing too quickly to respond, and my arms were too weak to push his hand away so I could speak. Out of nervousness my body shifted, and his torso slipped
between my open legs. Hunger flashed in his eyes. The green in them hadn’t lost their brilliance in the dark. In fact the night complimented them, as if they could only truly be seen when no other light distracted the viewer. “What are you trying to do to me?” I pressed my lips against his fingers and his hand flexed. “You mean you can’t tell?” He squirmed beneath me. I squeezed my legs around him, restricting his movements. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” His voice cracked. “How can you stand to touch that hand when it…” “I like every part of you,” I interrupted, “even this hand that held the gun and pulled the trigger.” I shut my eyes and rubbed my cheek against it. His heartbeat sped. “Do you still not believe me? Must I kiss away all your defenses until only you and I are left?” Pain flickered in his eyes. He opened his mouth and made a chocking sound, trying to speak.
I smiled into his palm. “You’ve already lost, you know. You’ve inadvertently shown me how I can defeat you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “What do you mean?” “You will do anything I ask,” I whispered. The words hung in the air, a mantra spoken to the dark. His eyes lost focus and glowed softly as they narrowed in on my lips. He allowed me to pull his hand away from my face. Now no barrier stood between us, and he could see the intensity in my eyes that mirrored his. “Maybe this kind of devotion is sinful,” I continued. “Perhaps it was even the origin of sin. But you and I are already damned.” His chest was heaving, and I rested my chin on it. “I’m not just asking for this. I am begging.” He blinked, and the corners of his eyes began to glisten. Tears, I realized. They took on an emerald sheen from the heated look he gave me. I wiped his cheeks with my hands, drying those tears—erasing them. “Why are
you the one crying now?” “I just, I never thought…” He ran a finger up the side of my neck and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. My body tightened. “Will you let me?” Before I could tell him how stupid he was being, he crashed his mouth into mine. I expected his touch to be tender and hesitant, as if an evening breeze had woken him from a deep, deep dream. But there was nothing sweet or kind about the way he held me. He kissed me as if I was his salvation and he’d spent an eternity searching for this moment. Soon both his hands were beneath my shirt, and he greedily ran them over my back and hips. To reaffirm I was truly there, perhaps—or maybe he believed that the force of his passion could keep us like this forever. I sank deeper into the sensations of my body, and accepted both the ambiguity and the freedom the dark gave me. No light touched me in this world I experienced behind closed eyes. I fell forward and bit his neck to keep from moaning. He seemed to
like that—his fingernails dug into me and I kissed him back harder, surprised that I enjoyed the slight ache he left on my skin. Each time I gripped his shoulders with the same desperation with which he held mine, each time my swollen lips accepted his embrace, more and more of his reservation slipped away. Soon I was so pressed against him that I could not tell which one of us was trembling. I don’t remember how we stopped, or why, only the reverent tone of his voice as he whispered my name again and again as he kissed my temples and rubbed my cheeks. I placed my ear over his chest to listen to his heartbeat slow. He wrapped his arms around me and both of us gradually became aware of the sound of waves rocking into the docks, and the hum of tires on the bridge.
Chapter 15 According to Oz, pancakes tasted best after a bout of kissing. It had something to do with the adrenaline getting rid of certain inhibitors that blocked one’s ability to taste sugar and fat. I asked if just working out or watching a scary movie would accomplish the same thing, but he said that kisses released a special kind of adrenaline. I didn’t really believe him—he probably just wanted pancakes—but since I wanted some too I allowed him to drag me to Dixie’s. And for the sake of science I let him to kiss me again right outside the door so I could thoroughly test his theory. Though it wasn’t quite stoner hour, twenty-somethings with bloodshot eyes, thrift-store sweaters, and hand-knit scarves were already shuffling in. A different pale waiter with a shaved head, tight black shirt and gauged ears led us to our table. I was beginning to wonder if that was the employee dress code. “Pancakes,” Oz told the waiter before
he could hand us our menus. “Chocolate for me and blueberry for the little lady.” I raised a brow. Oz looked taken aback. “What? I was thinking of ordering you strawberry but I thought you might think it was sexist.” I didn’t even bother to try to make sense of that comment. “No, I was just wondering how you knew I wanted blueberry.” He looked down. “The pancakes your mom made were blueberry, right? And you said they were your favorite.” I sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. How can you say something so sweet right after you called me little lady?” “I can’t believe he called you that either,” the waiter said as he poured our water. “Want me to slap him for you?” I had to smile. “No, I’ll take care of it later.” “Looking forward to it,” Oz grinned. “You’re incorrigible,” I whispered once the waiter left. “And don’t you dare bring up
Sweet Savage Sentiments just because I bitch-slapped you romance-style.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Oz’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. For once I wished his displeasure was directed at my corny sense of humor. After we decided to eat he’d stopped talking. His eyes kept shifting as we drove to Dixie’s, as if he’d expected the angel to materialize on the hood of the car. He’d kept up that routine until, well, he kissed me again. I took a deep breath. “What’s wrong?” “I just don’t understand why the angel wasn’t there when I returned.” He coughed and looked down. “Not that I’m upset he decided to leave us alone…” My cheeks flushed as I remembered the kiss. I couldn’t believe we did that—or that we could be sitting together and talking so normally thirty minutes after it happened. Though, if I was honest with myself, I would admit that reliving that moment of wild abandon was still preferable to discussing the angel. “He just disappeared after he healed me,” I said, offering nothing more.
Oz leaned back in his seat and folded his arms on the table. “Why did you react so violently after you woke up?” I took a deep breath. Alright, there was no way to avoid this. “Do you remember when I told you that my brother was taken by a winged man?” He didn’t move. I took that as a yes. “Well, the angel that appeared after you left was the same one who took him,” I finished. He shook his head. “That can’t be right. You probably just confused the two because he is an angel, and they are always surrounded by light when they first appear—” “No. It was him,” I interrupted. “Devi, the angel who watched over your brother was one of the Powers, a guardian of heaven. They hunt down demons and devils. If it was him he would have protected you—” “He didn’t come out because he knew I’d recognize him. He knew I’d hate him.” I
said softly, realizing that it was the truth. Oz was so still that he almost seemed lifeless. “Where is he?” My stomach tightened, taken aback by the deadly tone in his voice. I couldn’t tell if he was asking me or muttering to himself. “I told you that I don’t know. I fell asleep beside him, but when I woke up I only saw you.” My eyes widened as Oz clenched his hand in a fist. “He can’t be far.” “Why not?” “Because it’s excruciatingly painful for an angel to leave the side of the person they are assigned to guard.” He sighed. “They can’t stay away for long.” I shifted in my seat. “Even if they’re one of the Powers?” “Especially if they are. The higher the angel’s rank, the more it hurts to go against the will of God. Trust me.” My response died in my throat. There was so much pain entangled in those words. Pain and passion. Oz had once been a
powerful, beloved angel. Had he been forced to endure pain when he separated himself from God? Did he have to endure it still? I remembered how beautiful the light had been, how much I’d wanted to melt into the angel’s arms despite my hatred for him. That must have been what Oz felt, multiplied by so much I couldn’t even fathom how he’d managed to chose this world—or, more importantly, how he could have ever thought it was worth it. “There is another possibility,” I whispered. “The angel could have stayed by my side because he wanted to watch me to suffer.” Oz dropped his fork. “You do realize you’re talking about an angel, don’t you?” I could feel my face starting to get red. Embarrassing, yes, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. “I know it sounds silly to you, but you should have seen his face when he took my brother…” “Devi.” I grit my teeth, preparing for a
lecture. The way he whispered my name made me feel like I was eight. “Angels don’t have desires or a sense of humor, nor do they feel pleasure or pain,” he continued slowly. “They can only do God’s will.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then God must think that bullying ten year olds is super fun.” Oz leaned back. “I don’t know if I should find it reassuring or frightening that you are so quick to condemn God and, at the same time, relieve someone such as myself from any blame.” My heart skipped a beat. “Don’t even give me that,” I chastised. “You’re cute, funny, sweet…” “Yeah. And I just shot you a little over an hour ago.” I couldn’t stand that grim note in his voice. Or the self-loathing that filled his eyes when he said it. “Come on! You did it because I asked you to help me. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be pleasant going in,” I reminded him.
He gave me a sharp look. Must he make it so obvious that nothing I said could make him feel better? I covered his trembling hand with my own and smiled. “Think of it as a love tap.” Oh God, wrong thing to say! I knew as soon as the words left my mouth but it was too late to take them back. I felt his hand curl into a fist beneath mine. His face twisted as if I’d stabbed him and was currently turning the knife in his gut. “Devi, how can you even say such a thing after I left you there, bleeding…” “I’m fine,” I interrupted, trying to sound reassuring. But when he opened his eyes and looked into mine, I felt as if he would never believe that I was safe.
Oh Oz, I thought. Those green eyes were larger and tenderer than I’d ever seen them. I felt a tightness seize my throat. Here I’d been, worrying about my red face or making the wrong comment while Oz desperately searched for someone to give him hope. He looked like a lost child. I wanted to take him in my arms, curl up under
his fuzzy, sky blue childhood blanket, and tell him a fairy tale with a happy ending starring heroic knights, stupid princesses, and inept villains. But Oz was a demon. He’d be the smelly ogre or blood-thirsty dragon if someone had written him into a children’s story. And he’d probably argue that I was acting like a stupid princess, and the only reason why he hadn’t gotten me killed yet was because he was inept. Which would make the angel… My stomach turned. I refused to cast that thing as a gallant savior, even in a sappy, imaginary picture book. Well, it was a stupid analogy anyway. Oz had probably never had a childhood blanket, or even a childhood. “Hey, don’t look so grim. The pancakes are here,” the waiter called out over Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop.” I looked up and smiled, thankful for the interruption. Once he dropped the plates on the table and left, Oz only had eyes for the pancakes. It wouldn’t have bothered me if he hadn’t ground his
teeth every time he chewed, or swallowed as if he were forcing it down his throat. “You knew the angel would save me,” I said. Oz attacked his pancake. The twitching in his jaw became more prominent. “Hey, are you listening to me?” I asked. He set down the fork and shut his eyes. “Yes. I just wish I’d been the one to do it.” I raised my eyebrows and tried not to laugh. Him saving me after he shot me would have defeated the purpose of hurting me in the first place. “Is that really what this is about?” He paused. “Maybe.” “Stop,” I exclaimed. “You played your part perfectly. I’ll be able to ask him about my brother soon since he can’t hide from me anymore, or even stay away.” Well, if Oz was right and the angel couldn’t stay away. I still had my doubts but decided to keep them to myself. Oz stretched both of his hands over the
table. His shoulders heaved as he stared down at the pile of mutilated pancakes on his plate. “Why do you always forgive me so quickly?” It wasn’t a bad question, and yet it seemed so strange that he would even ask it because the answer was so easy. Because I think I might kind of love you. My heart fluttered. Had I really just thought that? Yes, I realized, but even more surprising was the fact that it might even be true. I bit my tongue. I couldn’t confess something like that to him now. It wouldn’t make any sense to him. Hell, it didn’t even make sense to me. I’d only known him for a few days. Since then he’d begged me to drop out of school, convinced me to vandalize private property, inadvertently gotten me to lie to my best friend, and almost killed me.
But he makes me smile, a small voice retorted. I almost giggled—like that little thing could override the list of grievances
that had accumulated over less than a week. But there something drew me to him, and it was far deeper than just the fact that I enjoyed the time we spent together. So what if I didn’t completely understand it yet. I grabbed his wrist. “Hey, I’m the one who was shot. If one of us is going to have a problem with this, it should be me.” Oz pulled his hand away from mine and nursed his cup of water as if it were a beer. “I regret that I told you that you should trust your instincts.” “I didn’t have good instincts to begin with. It was all that angel…” No, I couldn’t finish that sentence. I couldn’t even admit such a thing to myself. Now it was my turn to nurse my “drink” in between obscenely large bites of pancake. “Devi?” I put down my glass with a clack. “What?” “Your lips are blue. Blue as a blueberry.” Damn him, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Sexy, isn’t it?” I asked, hoping that there were no bits of blueberry stuck to them. He looked away and sighed. “You’ve finished eating. I should take you home.” I took the napkin in my lap and wiped my mouth in an effort to dispel the nervous energy that swirled in my stomach. Why are
you pushing me away after what we shared on the docks? I almost asked, but he was already reaching for the bill. He left the waiter a big tip for sticking up for me after he made that little lady comment, but then ruined the gesture by slapping me on the ass when we stepped out the door. I punched his arm. “I can’t believe you just did that!” “No one saw.” “That isn’t the point,” I grumbled, unsure of what the point was. He gave me a selfsatisfied smile I wanted to slap right off his face. Instead I tried a different tactic. “Hey Oz,” I said, bouncing from side to side in an effort to warm myself up. It was almost as chilly as it had been down by the
river. He stopped in front of the driver’s door and jingled the keys in his pocket. “What?” I leaned over the top of the car and grinned like an idiot. “My lips are cold.” He froze, sucked in a breath, then laid his hands down flat on the top of the car as if to steady himself. I grinned, thankful that he’d gotten the point without me having to actually ask him to warm them up, and delighted that I had that kind of effect on him. But he didn’t return my smile. The contours of his face softened and his mouth opened, barely. I couldn’t hear what he was saying—no, on second thought he wasn’t saying anything. Just looking at me as if we were separated by far more than the width of his beat-up car. I broke eye contact first. I jumped in the car, fastened my seatbelt, and stared out the window. I didn’t even glance over when he got in beside me and started the engine.
You’re such a coward , I told myself, but even the shame I felt couldn’t stop me from
hiding from him. I already knew why he’d looked so haunted, so I didn’t ask him about it. Neither did I comfort him, because I didn’t know what to say. If I’d been forced to hurt Oz I’d probably look and feel the same way.
If you want to do what’s best for him, leave. I buried my chin in my chest and hunched over. Why was Forneus’ warning popping up in my head at a time like this? Forneus was jealous, or he wasn’t jealous and just didn’t want to get involved with a human and, you know, chauffeur her and her friends around town while they padded guy’s cars. That sort of thing. We were silent on the way home. He slowed down when we got to my street, and by the time we were in front of my house we were going so slow that I almost didn’t realize we’d come to a stop. Out of habit I looked over at him to say goodbye. His eyes were glowing green again. It wasn’t the throbbing, vibrant color he got when he’d fought Forneus, or the
seductive emerald his eyes flashed when he’d kissed me. It was softer. Cooler. I lifted my hand to his shoulder. I felt him suppress a shudder beneath my grip. His lips curled back. A hissing sound escaped his lips. “Don’t get out yet.” “What is it?” I asked. My palms began to sweat. Why did he suddenly look so… demonic? “That angel is in your room,” he whispered. He took my hand off his shoulder and pushed back his hair. It was a gesture I normally would have taken comfort in, or found sexy. But in that moment it made my stomach tighten. The angel. That thing was in there, waiting for me. I jumped out of the car. Seconds later I heard his car door slam, and his footsteps chase after me. “I’m coming in with you,” he said. I whipped around. “No.” He shot me an incredulous look. “You want to talk to him alone?”
I pressed my thumbs together. “Maybe.” He turned, murmured something under his breath and slammed his hand into the side of the car. The impact left a dent. “What is going on?” He asked. I couldn’t answer. The soft tone of his voice made me uneasy considering he’d just beat up his car. So he continued: “A few minutes ago it looked like you never wanted to see him again. Now you want to go meet him without me?” I looked out over the lawn. It would be damp and my shoes would sink into it with that slippery, squishy sound. It would slow me down just a little bit, and I’d have muddy feet by the time I got to the door. But it wasn’t very far, so I wouldn’t have to feel guilty for very long. “I don’t want you to see how I act when I meet him,” I admitted. He sighed. “Why not?” He voice sounded calmer, and I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. Maybe he’d still have a car by the end of this
conversation. “I’m going to cry and say childish things,” I replied, hoping my voice was just as smooth and collected as his had been. It wasn’t. It sounded foolish, like I was crying. Perhaps I already was. “I don’t care,” Oz laughed. “I’ve already seen you act like a child.” I glared at him. When had I acted like a child, exactly? Never mind. He was wrong and even if he wasn’t, I didn’t care and I didn’t want to know. “I’ll call you in the morning,” I told him. He snatched my arm and spun me around to face him. I felt his lips press against my temple. “That isn’t soon enough. Not even close.” My throat closed. It felt almost like he was kissing me. “Why? Do you think I’ll be in danger?” I croaked. “No.” His voice was muffled, and the heat from his breath fanned out over my skin.
”He might not even tell me everything when you’re around,” I said, trying to think rationally. Yeah, like that was possible when Oz was this close and…I shut my eyes, refusing to let me finish. “I can tell you if he’s lying,” Oz responded. I took a step back. “So now you can tell when people are lying?” His pause was a little too long. “Uh, sometimes.”
You’re such a bad liar, I wanted to tell him, but instead I smiled and asked: “Do angels even lie?” He stepped away from me and sighed, looking down the deserted street. “No. They don’t,” he murmured with pathetic puppy eyes. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Hurt with the angel? Now he was just being silly. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine,” I said. His grip on my forearms tightened. “Pretty sure isn’t good enough for me.” I couldn’t meet his gaze directly. Those
green eyes pierced my secrets—almost as if he were holding up a mirror, and it hurt for me to look at my reflection for very long. “Look,” I said firmly, “I’ll call you once I’m done. You can even come up then if you want. I just don’t want anyone else to witness this…first meeting.” He kicked the front wheel tire. “Alright, but if I don’t hear anything in forty minutes I’m coming back.” I pushed against his shoulders. They didn’t even budge. “Forty minutes isn’t long enough! Four hours at least.” “Fine. Forty-five minutes.” He rolled his head back and closed his eyes slowly, as if the action pained him. “Damn, I shouldn’t have negotiated. It’s hard to think when you’re around.” I just stared at him. He called that negotiating? He’d only given me another five minutes. Hesitantly I looked up at my bedroom window. My fingers began fidgeting with the hem of my coat. The angel was there. I
would meet him, alone. “Do you think he knows I’m here?” Oz glared at the window as if it had done something unforgivable. “Yeah, he knows.” He returned his attention to me. “I’m here to help you, too.” His grip on my shoulders tightened, and my heartbeat began to escalate. “I know,” I whispered. His shadow crept up my neck, onto my chin, and finally over my lips. Was it a bit warmer than the night air? He caught my chin and tilted up my face. “I’ll stay regardless of what anyone says or does because it’s what I want,” he continued. “Not because it’s my duty.” His mouth brushed against mine slowly and with no regard to time, as if he wanted to savor every unconscious reaction of my body. He pushed my legs apart and slipped between them. I grabbed the handle of the car to keep myself upright as he wrapped an arm around me, drawing me closer, molding himself into my body. His hands were in my
hair, on my face, and I was lost in that tingling, beautiful, lush sensation I would never get used to. Suddenly he broke the kiss and rested his forehead on mine, breathing heavily. “Take me with you,” he begged.
No. Keep kissing me, I almost pleaded back. My eyes fluttered open. My vision was still hazy, and for a moment I was too disoriented to form a reply. “Was that kiss supposed to change my mind?” “You mean it didn’t?” His eyebrows shook just slightly and his lips trembled, as if he didn’t know whether to pout or smile. “What am I going to do with you?” He leaned into me and groaned, and my toes tingled from the weight of his body on mine. “I liked it, I really did,” I tried to say steadily. He pulled away so we could both see each other. “Yeah, but not nearly as much as me.” My knees went weak. My heartbeat hammered in my throat. I’m a bloody cliche,
I almost moaned as I took a step away and rubbed my hands on my jeans, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. “The angel didn’t see us, did he?” “He did.” Oz had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. “Oh,” I whispered. “Did you kiss me because the angel was watching?” “I should be really offended that you even asked that,” he whispered. “But no, I did it because I wanted to…although the fact that the angel was watching was a nice bonus.” He smiled sadly. “I guess my tastes are less refined than Forneus’.” “They totally are,” I responded, not really because I thought it was a zinger, just because I didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t let go of me just yet. “Don’t forget about me.” “That would be impossible,” I whispered back. “I’ll call you soon.” Then I walked to my front door, and Oz didn’t follow.
Chapter 16 The house didn’t look any different. Mom hadn’t come home yet so the kitchen was just as messy as it had been that morning, with dirty pans still on the burners, papers scattered over the counter tops and unwashed plates piled up in the sink. No,
even if she’d stopped by it would still be this messy, I admitted to myself as I dropped my backpack and slipped out of my muddy shoes. It didn’t look like a human could stand to live here, let alone an angel. I locked the front door. The moment I finished I heard an engine starting, and the choking sound of an old car speeding away. Oz had really left—but not a moment before I’d locked myself in. I was touched by the sweetness of that gesture, especially since it came after I’d been so rude. Suddenly I wondered why I’d been so eager to get rid of him. I stopped outside my door. My hands flexed into fists and I braced myself—for
what, I wasn’t quite sure. Yelling, maybe. Or crying. Or maybe nothing at all, I thought as I closed my eyes and listened for some semblance of life to break the ambient hum from my mom’s kitchen appliances. None came. My hand wobbled over the doorknob. I leaned into the door with my shoulder and crept into my room. The window in the far corner was closed, but the curtains danced from the hot air billowing up from the vent beneath them. The bed was still unmade, and the clothes I’d worn for the past week lay in piles on the floor. The angel had witnessed me make this mess, and countless other messes. He’d watched me as I undressed each night, seen me cry into my pillow. My neck and cheeks began to burn. He probably knew all my secrets, even those I didn’t dare admit to myself. I heard a gasp behind me and spun. There, crumpled in the space between my door and bookshelf, crouched the angel. He didn’t look angelic hunched over on the floor and gripping his stomach as if he’d
suffered a mortal wound. I saw no evidence of his wings, just his pain. Short, erratic breaths escaped from cracked lips. Dark circles hung beneath those blue eyes as they peered up at me through matted hair. “You’re here,” he whispered. The relief in his voice made my heart ache—it was no longer beating, but trembling to the soft tenor of his voice. I couldn’t think. He was still beautiful. Even more beautiful than I’d remembered. I’d read tales of Gaelic warriors so fierce that even after they’d been fallen to the Romans their conquerors had deified them. He looked like that—a tragic hero who had transcended fate through his acceptance of it. He let out a sigh. “Just being beside you…” He closed his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he’d meant to finish that sentence, or if those words alone carried an importance I could not discern. I sat on my knees and grabbed his chin. As soon as I made contact with his skin he groaned and his breathing increased, as if
my touch brought ecstasy. His hand slipped over my wrist and he held it there as he slowly opened his eyes. Blue. Like a cloudless afternoon in summer. Like that place in the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. “It really is you,” I whispered. I’d dreamed of doing horrific, violent things to this man. I’d wanted to hurl cruel words at him as if they, too, were weapons I could rip him apart with. But at that moment as I knelt before him I allowed him to grasp my hand as I stared at him in silence. Some traitorous, foolish part of me had wanted to see the angel again. No matter how much it disgusted me I had to acknowledge it. I’d wanted to lose myself in that heavenly light. Perhaps I’d even envied my brother for being taken instead of me. “Devi, I—” He shivered. “You don’t know what it means to just be beside you.” Pity and disgust welled up in me. I didn’t want to feel things like this for the angel who stole my brother. But it was so hard when
everything about him was broken and desperate—perhaps even as broken and desperate as me. My chest heaved. I pushed him away and wiped my eyes to rid them of the image of his supplicating form. “Where did you take him?” I demanded. He didn’t bother to feign ignorance. “Home.” His use of home that word bothered me more than it should have. “What do you mean? You took him from his home.” My voice grew louder, became more and more shrill. He leaned back into the wall, unaffected. “This world will never be home for those who have been touched by the grace of God.” Those words cut through me. I almost wished that he did understand the effects of them on a physical level. It would make some part of this tolerable, I think, if he was willfully being cruel. How could I have even for a second allowed my heart to reach out
to this monster? This being did not feel, did not regret, did not love. He didn’t even look weak anymore—his lips had smoothed over, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were receding. I steadied myself. “Why did you take him from me?” “He was never yours,” the angel said, as if I’d asked him the time and he’d given it to me right down to the second. Rage built upon rage. I wanted to tear this beautiful creature apart. I wanted to profane it—to dip a sanctified wafer into oil and force it down his throat; to pour blessed wine down the drain; to baptize him with seven years worth of tears that I’d created with this body of mine that could not be further from his beloved God. The angel coughed and looked down, oblivious to the pain surmounting inside me. “I let him stay for as long as I could, but he was never meant to be here for very long.” I cringed. “Why? Where is he?” He shifted his weight and placed his
palms upright upon his knees. “Knowing won’t change anything. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
You have no right to tell me such things, I almost yelled. But I didn’t have the strength to say it. My chest hurt so much that it was becoming difficult to speak. “Where is he?” I repeated in a softer voice. “You can’t go to where he is. I couldn’t take you even if I wanted to.” I swallowed. “Is he dead?” The angel looked down again. “No. He will exist as long as you do.” “What is that supposed to mean?” The angel stood and backed himself up into the wall. “We shouldn’t talk about this now. You’re upset.”
No, really? I almost laughed. “No. You tell me now.” “I don’t think it’s the time—” I grabbed a pillow from my bed and hurled it at him.
It barely made a sound when it smacked into his face. The angel didn’t duck, or flinch. Nor did he catch it when it fell ungracefully to the ground in a pink and yellow checkered clump. Even at the moment of impact his eyes didn’t leave mine. I was breathing so fast I couldn’t see straight. Slow down, I told my heart, but it wouldn’t listen. Neither did my shaking hands, or my rapidly increasing intakes of breath. I’d done it. I’d hit somebody because I couldn’t control myself—because I wanted to hurt them. The fact that it had been a pillow meant nothing. I’d wanted to… I stumbled backwards, barely caught myself when I tripped over a t-shirt. I forced my gaze away from the angel’s, cheeks burning now for a different reason. Did he know how much I’d wanted him to cry out in pain? Would he berate me for my childish tantrum? “You’re hyperventilating.” I almost couldn’t hear his voice over the roaring in my ears.
“What—I—” “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He grabbed my forearms, and a soothing warmth fell over me like mist. I looked up at him. He was still looking at me. He hadn’t stopped. My lips opened slightly and I began to breathe as if I was drifting into a dream. “Are you calming me down?” I murmured. “Yes.” “Don’t,” I said without conviction. “I don’t want you in my head for any reason.” Something flickered in his eyes. “You won’t let me help you?” Then that haunting, concealing mask fell over his face.
No, it isn’t a mask, I realized. It didn’t matter how I felt about him. His face would remain that expressionless whether he killed or consoled me. And he kept his distance not out of duty or to protect his emotions, but because he was truly incapable of acting another way.
My throat closed. “Do you really want to help me? Then help me. Please, tell me what is going on. Why did you take him from me?” “I already told you, he was never for you.” I grabbed his arms. “You don’t understand. I needed him. I still need him. It was like he was the other half of me—” “You still feel that way?” He brought his hand to my cheek. My lip curled back as he wiped my face. He was touching my tears, I realized. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been crying. I shut my eyes. How can you stand to
touch them? They must disgust someone like you who never changes, and who can never weep… “You don’t understand,” I whispered. “I don’t,” he admitted. “It was cruel of Him to do what he did to both of you.” He stated it factually and with the emotional investment of a scientist dissecting an insect. I arched up my neck to get a better look
at him. “What do you mean? What did He do?” The angel stepped away. “If God hadn’t intervened you would have been one person,” he said. “But at the moment of conception you were separated, and one of you was born without a spirit, and the other without a soul.” I staggered forward, clawed at my stomach. “That makes no sense. What does that even mean? Why would God do that?” “I don’t know why. I was just sent to guard your brother.” I doubled over, unable to listen any longer. Not possible. How could something exist without a soul? But no, the angel in front of me had no soul, and I could still see him, still touch… No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. But hadn’t Oz said once that a soul was the part of you that received and was moved by images? My brother never cried, even when he was hurt. The only time he softened was when he looked upon the cross or tried to
comfort me. My heartbeat escalated. Why didn’t music move him? Why was a part of him so blank, so distant from me, no matter how close we were? The angel’s shadow crept over the bed. “Devi, he never belonged here. It hurt him to stay for so long.” I glared at him with bleary vision. “Why did he stay, then?” The angel didn’t respond. A sharp pain seized my chest. I knew why he stayed—it was for the same reason that I searched for him, and would continue searching for him until the end. “He didn’t want to go, did he?” I asked. It wasn’t quite a question. The angel didn’t answer. “He wanted to stay and you took him away,” I whispered. He’d been so afraid the night before he left. He knew he would be taken, and he didn’t want to go. How had he known? Why hadn’t he told me? An idea took form—sick, twisted, ironic.
My lungs felt like a tissue that had been set to flame—like the edges were folding into each other, fragile and black, before dissolving into air. My throat closed, hot. Too hot to breathe. If I inhaled I would surely ignite my lungs further, burning myself from the inside out. I fell forward and slammed my palm into my bed to steady myself. “How long did you stay with my brother?” The angel didn’t miss a beat. “I was there when you were both conceived.” My stomach turned. I opened my mouth to wail, but no sound came out. He’d…oh God, I couldn’t take it. Gross. So, so, so, so gross. “I really didn’t need to know that,” I rasped. He tilted his head to the side. “You asked me how long—” “Never mind. Don’t even…I’m just going to pretend like you didn’t say that.” I swallowed, forcing down the nausea that was swimming up my throat. “So you were with us when we were kids?” I offered.
“Yes. I stayed by your brother’s side until he was summoned.” I looked down at the bed—at the three intertwining hearts my grandmother had sewed onto my quilt. “Are you Cammy?” He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” A suffocating pain gnawed at my chest. It didn’t originate from him, though. It was more blunt and, in a way, more tolerable. I could still stand; I didn’t collapse; and though the world around me spun like a toy top that had lost its balance I could still meet his eyes. The eyes of my brother’s beloved imaginary friend. Scenes drifted in front of me—of tea parties where I’d filled the teapot with lemonade or water. I’d always poured three cups instead of just two. Don’t forget Cammy, my brother would say to me. But he didn’t need to remind me. I never forgot Cammy. On our birthday, or Valentine’s day, or Halloween or Christmas, I always made an
extra card for Cammy. I blew goodnight kisses to the space where I thought he might be before I went to sleep. I drew pictures of the three of us walking together, hand-inhand.
What does Cammy look like? I don’t know how many times I’d asked my brother that question. He’s pretty, like all the stars in the sky were put together. My brother had said. But he always looks sad. How can he be sad? I’d asked. He has us. I don’t know. He doesn’t feel like he belongs anywhere, my brother told me. And I remember falling asleep dreaming of Cammy, wondering why our love wasn’t strong enough to make him feel at home. Why my love wasn’t strong enough. Why, no matter how much I loved him, I still couldn’t see him myself. I grabbed the fabric of my jeans and balled my hands into fists. “Do you
remember how I called out for you all those nights after my brother left?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “I never doubted Cammy existed. I just thought there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t see him.” “You couldn’t see me like your brother could because you didn’t have a spirit,” the angel added, as if I needed him to remind me of that. This guy really didn’t know how much he hurt me. “What did you feel when you saw me cry?” I asked, already knowing the answer, wanting to punish myself for some unknown reason. He said nothing. Of course. An angel wouldn’t know how to respond. He’d watched us play dispassionately. His heart had never been stirred by any of my gifts. And his eyes looked straight to God, never noticing the adoration of a foolish, impulsive little girl, or caring how much her eyes burned as she waited by the window each night for her brother’s return. “I asked how it made you feel to watch
me cry each night,” I repeated. “Did you ever desire to comfort me, or is even the semblance of compassion too much for you?” “Devi…” He raised his hand to my face. I felt nothing. Not even air brushing against my cheek. “Do you remember the batches of pancakes I cooked for you? Do you remember how they tasted?” He looked so confused that I almost regretted asking. “You know I did not eat them,” he responded finally. “Even if I did I cannot taste—” “I hate you so much. Just the sight of you sickens me,” I interrupted, turning my attention to the curtain’s sinuous movements. I didn’t trust myself to look at him anymore. The floorboards creaked as he crouched on the floor in front of me. “I would never hurt you.”
I can’t take it. Why did he say that?
No, Devi, calm down, I told myself. He’s a stupid angel and doesn’t know what he’s doing. I shut my eyes and started to count to ten. I didn’t make it to five. My knees slammed into the hardwood floor. I stuffed my arm under the bed. The box was right where I left it, still unable to close because it was so full of all the things I’d made for Cammy. I snatched it and tossed it in front of me. Piles of papers spilled out—notes featuring backwards letters and “adowabl” misspellings; sunshines wearing sunglasses; and three idiots with oversized heads that somehow still couldn’t contain their smiles holding hands. I grabbed a fist full. Cammy’s crescentmoon-red-crayon smile beamed at me. Die! I wanted to scream. Instead I chose the slightly more mature: “I hate you!” I ripped that handful apart until all that remained were uneven confetti chunks. Then I threw them at him—watched them twirl like
falling petals until they landed on the top of his head, his shoulders, and eyelashes. Then I grabbed another pile and did it again. He just sat there, taking it. Though in all honesty there wasn’t that much to “take.” On the surface this onslaught appeared even less violent than when I whacked him with my pillow, but it wasn’t. At least to me, anyway, because I remembered the hours I put into these cards and what they’d once meant to me—no, still meant to me. I’d kept them all these years, after all. I choked back a sob. Everything I tried to do to him just hurt me more. The Cammy in my drawings would have started balling if I’d stopped holding his hand. The sun, the clouds, and the flowers would have probably started wailing with him, because that’s how amazing my brother’s imaginary friend had been. The real thing just stared at me as I showered him with more and more shattered tween fantasies, not irritated or even bored. He didn’t care that I’d stayed up all night making him a gingerbread house for
Christmas. He didn’t care that I hadn’t let anyone sit next to me on the bus until Kim appeared in my life because I didn’t want anyone to take Cammy’s seat. He didn’t care that the only thing that kept me going in the months after my brother disappeared was the possibility that Cammy might be near—I’d never seen him before, so just because I didn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. I’d talked in the dark to Cammy. I told him my fears—that he was the only thing I loved in my life. I begged him to never leave me. I stopped. God, why did I have to remember that? I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to have never existed. My eyes locked on a glint of silver next to the digital clock. Yes, I thought, as my fingers slid over the plastic handle of the scissors. I jumped up, raised them above my head, and plummeted them down to the quilt my grandmother had made for me, my brother and Cammy.
Something fleshy materialized in front of me. I yelped as the sharp end of the scissors sank into his palm. Oh no, I’d slashed an angel. God was really going to smite me now. Any minute the window would fly open and lightening would flash and fry me until I was no more than a cartoon skeleton… The angel caught my wrist and twisted it above my head until the scissors dropped to the floor with a clatter. There was no blood. Why? I’d seen the scissors slide into his flesh. His hand should be gushing by now. But then again, he wasn’t alive or even a part of this world in any way. I shook my head and tried to drop to my knees to retrieve the scissors. “Don’t,” he said, still holding my arms and preventing me from moving. I grit my teeth. “Why not?” “You’ll regret it if you do.” I could feel my face contorting into all sorts of ugly, uncomfortable angles. I hated him. I hated even more that he was right.
“How do you know what I will and won’t regret when you don’t even have feelings?” He didn’t respond to my question. “I will never allow you to hurt yourself.” My knees gave out and he caught me. “Why? Why do you even care? Why are you even here? Is this some kind of game to you?” “No, never,” he said, and there was no emotion behind his voice. It wasn’t a joke; it wasn’t even worth that much. Oz’s words came back to haunt me. Angels can’t feel,
they can’t make choices for themselves, they can’t do anything but follow God’s will. “Why then?” I bent down and grabbed the front of his shirt. “Why?” He was silent for a few moments, so I had to listen to myself sob, feel the dampness from my own tears as I wrung my hands in his shirt. Then he whispered: “Because your brother asked me to watch over you.”
Chapter 17 The ache in my chest bloomed. I couldn’t breathe. My brother had asked him. I pushed the angel away and fell to my knees. The angel didn’t try to stop me. He was still talking. “Your brother refused to leave willingly until I promised.”
Of course he did. I put my hands over my ears. My brother had known that he’d been chosen and I’d been condemned. Perhaps he’d always known. And the night before it had happened he’d tried to warn me, and I hadn’t listened. Even when he left I’d hesitated. Yet despite all that he still loved that part God had freed him from—he’d left his angel behind to protect me because he’d known that nothing else on heaven or earth would ever love me. I tore at my forehead. My eyes ached from the pressure of it. Or maybe I’d just been crying too long. I couldn’t face the angel. I didn’t want to accept my brother’s last gift to me. I think I understand what you
were trying to do, I thought. But I can’t take this. I can’t stand to have this thing near me, even now, when I know he came because you asked him to. Even if he’s the last thing I have of you left. “Go,” I whispered. For a moment the angel didn’t realize that command was meant for him. Then he sighed and took my hand. “I can’t.” His grip on me tightened, and the horror of what he’d just said seeped into my skin and ignited every nerve in my body. He couldn’t leave. Oz had warned me about this. I hadn’t really considered what he’d meant when he said that an angel cannot leave its ward. He’d told me I’d regret it and I did, though not for a reason I could have foreseen. I shook my head; I couldn’t afford to dwell on that now, or how it would shape the rest of my life. “Why were you able to leave the first time, then?” I asked. He looked down. “My presence caused you pain, and I didn’t want—” For some
reason his voice broke, though as far as I can tell his expression did not change. “I am here to protect you, not hurt you,” he finished softly. So he wasn’t here just to keep me safe, but to keep me safe from harm. “And what if just being next to you hurts me?” I asked. The angel’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. You look so lost, it seems almost cruel to watch you, I thought, but I couldn’t look away. The subtle expression that had so briefly crossed his face looked almost like an emotional reaction. It must have been difficult for him to receive conflicting orders from me and my brother; that confusion was probably the closest he’d ever come to feeling something genuine. I clenched my fists harder and harder, ignoring the sting of my nails digging into my palm. Why did I pity him? “What if being next to you made me want to hurt myself?” I continued. “Would you physically restrain me even though your nearness was the cause of my suffering, or would you give me another one of those headaches that causes more
pain than anything I could do?” “I would never let you hurt yourself,” he said.
Stop. Repeating. Yourself. I didn’t need protection from this. I needed protection from him. “How is it even worth living if I’m that powerless? Or do you not even understand how horrible such an existence would be because it’s how you’ve always lived?” I opened my eyes. He was still there. His eyes were clear as a cloudless night. Of course they would be. He didn’t feel enough to resent my cruel words. Those ineffectual rituals were reserved for those of us who had souls. “Look, you have to leave. I can’t stand being around you. Maybe someday I’ll be able to, but not right now. I can’t even hear myself think…” He just stared at me. “Stop looking at me like that,” I begged. Immediately he changed the angel at
which he looked at me.
You’ll never get it, I wanted to scream at him. Moving your head around changes nothing. It’s that expression on your face that I can’t stand. It’s you. My eyes burned as they stared at my chest. His inhuman grip still bore down on my wrists, as cold and immobile as shackles. “Please go before I say things that I don’t mean. I know it won’t bother you—I’m pretty sure that nothing I could say would ever bother you—but it would hurt me. Just knowing you’re here hurts me.” He grabbed my chin and tilted it up, forcing me to look at him.
Go, I pleaded silently. Please go. I couldn’t tell if my thoughts were getting through to him. Could he even read expressions? I tried a more direct approach. “Leave while I can still ask you like this. I don’t want to become the person I am when I’m around you. I’m trying to…” I swallowed. “Look, you can tell when I’m lying, right? I won’t hurt myself if you leave right now. I’ll
just stay here, and…” “Do you want the demon?” He asked evenly. The calmness in his voice unnerved me. Surely an angel would despise being passed over for a demon—especially if that heavenly creature was built to combat demons. I looked down. “I don’t want anyone.” “I’ll leave for an hour,” he said. “You’re not to leave this room. If something should happen while I’m gone, call out the name Camael and I will come for you.” Tires screeched on the street. For a second lights flashed through the curtains and hit the angel in the eyes. He didn’t react —his pupils didn’t even shrink. “You really don’t exist in this world even when you’re in it, do you?” My hand flew over my mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to say that—” The angel opened the window. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said again. It was beginning to seem like that was the only thing he was capable of saying when he
wasn’t answering a question. Then he turned his back to me and leaped out the window. He landed with a soft, squishy thud. I ran to the place where he’d disappeared and gripped the sill. Halfway across the lawn he began to limp, and each step he took became longer, slower. He dragged his feet in the mud, ignoring the rain collecting on his clothes. When he reached the sidewalk he bent over, gripped his chest and stopped. I expected him to turn and look at me, but he didn’t. Perhaps he was waiting for me to call him back so he could slink back across the lawn and crawl into my bedroom window. But I did not call him, and he raised his face to the sky and allowed the rain to fall upon it. Could he even feel the cold, I wondered, and if he couldn’t then why did he do it? It was as if his body had been programmed to perform certain gestures while in human form—things he did not understand but did
anyway because they were the things people did. I didn’t like thinking about that side of him. It seemed too close to feeling for my taste. Briefly, I wondered if it bothered him that I hated him so much.
No, I told myself. The only thing an angel could feel was distance from God or, if he’d been assigned to guard a person, his ward. From what Oz’d said, that pain of ignoring those orders was deeper than any other. I glanced down at the beads of rain collecting on my white knuckles. None of it made sense to me. How did something that couldn’t feel experience pain? How could it express it? My breath caught in my throat. Perhaps, in those rare instances when the angel’s body was overwhelmed by torment he didn’t understand, he looked to other things to express it for him—something like rain that could take the place of those tears he did not possess. Suddenly the angel began to walk again, and my relief at not having to watch him any more shamed me. He stumbled
down the middle of the street like a drunken fool who’d wandered on the set of a Shakespearian tragedy to provide comic relief before the darkness swallowed him. Once he’d left my sight I closed the window, but not before the rain had soaked the top of my desk and the few stray papers I had piled near it. I wiped my hands on my jeans. Luckily my laptop wasn’t wet. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the pink and yellow checkered pillow I’d hurled at the angel. I crouched down and flipped it over. Beauty stared at me with bug-eyes and a warped smile. “Don’t judge. You were able to lock yourself in your bedroom when the Beast started acting all freaky. Have any ideas for me?” I asked her. Beauty just beamed at me. “Yeah, thanks,” I muttered under my breath. She was probably just pissy because I’d had the audacity to beat someone with princess merchandise. I tossed the pillow onto the bed, then fell on it with the same reckless abandon the angel had shown when he jumped out my window,
but without any of his grace. The plush fabric was soft on my cheek. I shoved my face further and further into it and wrung my hands in the comforter, careful not to crease or soil the quilt my grandmother had made me. Well, she hadn’t made it just for me. It was for my brother, too—and Cammy. I shuddered. Even when he wasn’t here I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It probably had something to do with the fact that I’d been crying out for him or crying because of him in this very room for my entire life. But these things were just God’s will, and I was insignificant compared to Him that I couldn’t hope to change anything. It was futile to wish for something different, and sacrilegious to pray. The pillow was getting really wet and I knew that if I turned it over Beauty would still be smiling. That thought just made me cry harder. Who were these tears and self pity for? Not for God, who had denied me his grace. Not for my brother, whom He had taken. Not for Cammy, who so mirrored
God’s image that even remembering his silhouette made me ache. I thought instead of the earth that received the rain. It was as silent as God, and just as unreceptive to our thoughts and feelings. And, like rain, my tears could seep into the soil. It, at least, accepted some part of me. The more I thought of it the more important that idea became, and I allowed myself to give into a heretical impulse. All life depended on water, and there I was giving my body’s water to the silence and the darkness God had created but was separate from. Yes, rain could be sacred. It was cold and distant and it, just like me and all other living things, had no place to return to but the earth. I surrendered to the fear inside me that the angel’s voice had agitated. He never belonged to you. It hurt him to stay. I knew that Kai and I were different. But those differences were part of the reason why we needed each other—why we could never be separated.
But no, I hadn’t always thought that. Before I could stop myself, a memory played in my head. *** My brother spent most of his time sleeping. Even in the middle of our games he would fall asleep on my shoulder, or on my lap, or awkwardly on the floor. I’d found it far more amazing than it should have been because I almost never slept. At night often I’d stay awake as my thoughts raced, replaying scenes from my past or things I’d imagined over and over again. I often asked my brother what he dreamed of. He always looked away when I asked and never answered. I thought that he must love to sleep because he did it so much, but wasn’t true. He was simply tired. The days were too long for him, he said. Everything wore him down, even necessary things like breathing, and the smell of the world irritated his lungs. I’d always been afraid that the sight and scent of me made him sick too, but he always denied it. Now I wondered if he’d been lying.
But the flood of memories that filled me when I thought of him did not come—just the one of the day we spent together before he left.
Devi, he said, come next to me. And I did. The afternoon sun had spilled from the window over his face and his nose had twitched, as if annoyed by it. I don’t know why I found that so funny, but I did. He opened his eyes. You’re always laughing. You’re always so happy. Because you’re here, I replied. Softly, he squeezed my hand. Every movement he made was slight and quiet, as if he were trying hard not to disturb anything. Once his breathing slowed and became rhythmic, I slid away from him and began building piles of blocks. It was a game we often played, though I will be the first to admit that it didn’t make much sense. The first time we did it had been an accident. I’d taken hours to make a pattern on the lawn with fallen leaves. It had been beautiful, and I’d wanted him to see it.
So I’d gone over to him and shaken his shoulder.
Wake up, I’d said, then started singing it. Slowly he opened his eyes and, in a halfdaze, he began dancing over all my leaves and rolling on the ground in them, as I kept singing. Perhaps I should have been angry. I’d made something beautiful and he’d destroyed it without so much as giving it a passing glance, but for some reason it made me happy. I wanted to do it again. And again. And again. I’d build something simple or intricate as he slept, and when I was finished ask him to wake up, and then he would dance over it until it was destroyed. That day I decided to spend a lot of time on my work. I took out the box of small blocks my uncle had made for us and put them all in an elaborate design with different sizes of towers and stars and lines. It was, I thought, perhaps one of the most beautiful things I’d made. And then I asked him to wake up. He groaned, as he often did, and stood with closed eyes. Then he rolled out of bed
and, somehow, landed on his feet. Like a sumo wrestler he lifted one leg and brought it down with a crash, causing the blocks to spew out over the room. Then the other foot. Again and again, his feet making a splendid booming sound, and I watched him destroy it. It was as beautiful as the creation itself—no, more beautiful. I loved seeing the blocks fly in all directions without logic or purpose. The way those intricate patterns dissolved seemed almost sacred. The impermanence of that moment imprinted itself in my mind—I could not forget it, and would think about often. Then the earth began to shake. It wasn’t the first earthquake I’d lived through. It wasn’t the biggest, either, but the fact that it had happened while he was dancing made me panic. I ran to the center of the room and hugged Kai. Stop, I said, and he opened his eyes. We dropped to the floor, huddled together, and waited for the shaking to finish.
What happened? He whispered once
the shaking had stopped.
I made something for you, I answered. He looked sad, as he always did, because he wanted to see what I’d made. It’s not as beautiful as your dancing, I told him, as I always did. But these words had no impact on his sadness. He rubbed his face into my shoulder. I want to see it. Why can I never see it, Devi? I think some part of me knew that he was different in that moment, and that those differences would one day separate us. I think he felt it too. That night, when the rain came, he told me he was afraid. I’d been afraid as well—too afraid to admit it. So I told him to be quiet and he slept beside me while my eyes remained wide open well into the morning. Then we’d taken a walk, and he’d disappeared. *** At some point in the middle of the memory I’d stopped crying. The air in my
room was too cold and my throat felt dry. I turned on my side and glanced at my cell phone on the bedside table. I knew I should call Oz, but I didn’t want to tell him about how I’d gone off on my angel. My reluctance had nothing to do with a fear that he wouldn’t understand me. Hell, I think he’d expected me to freak out. That’s probably why he didn’t want to leave. He knew I wouldn’t say anything so rash if he was there…or then again maybe he’d just hoped I wouldn’t. During those moments I doubt anything could have restrained me. I shook my head. I had to call him sooner or later. It was better than having him appear unannounced while I was weeping in the corner. Without my angel. Again. Something made me freeze as I reached for my phone. Perhaps it was the thickness of the silence—it seemed unnatural, somehow, for my room to be that quiet. I couldn’t hear the air from the vent anymore, or the light pitter-patter of rain that I could see beading up on my window. Goosebumps popped up all over my skin.
What is this? I wondered. Why had my throat closed and my muscles tensed to such an extent that I could no longer move? Was it fear? Then I saw the shadow on my skin. I flailed my arm, but it was too late. Claws latched onto it, piercing it as they twisted it back. I screamed and smashed my right fist into the body beside me, but it had no effect. The claws dug into my shoulders like knives and flung me against the wall. My head cracked on impact, or maybe I just thought it had. The loud, snapping sound sickened me, and then I felt the ache in my elbows, my neck, and the interior of my body. I covered my face with my arms and charged forward, kicking myself from the bed onto the floor. The sheets wrapped around my ankles, causing me to land on my chin. Damn, why hadn’t I made my bed this morning? Why didn’t I ever make my bed? Why hadn’t my messy mother ever forced me to make my bed? Moms are supposed to make their kids do random, character-building chores
like that, you know! My rapid-fire thoughts egged on my dread as I tried to yank myself free of the sheets that had ensnared me. I was only making the knots worse. I needed a weapon. I glanced around, but the only object other than my dirty t-shirts was that checkered pink and yellow Beauty and the Beast pillow. Beauty had decided to show solidarity by falling with me, I guess. Well, either that or she wanted to mock me. Her creepy smile was now battle-scarred with splatters of my blood. My eyes narrowed. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? I accused her, silently. The creature jumped onto my back and whipped me around. I snatched the pillow and stuffed it in its face. The creature wailed. That’s right, I thought, pushing up with all my might. Taste the power of commercialized
fairy tales catered to the limitless vanity of little girls! But that victory was short-lived. The creature ripped the pillow from my hands. Beauty soared through the air, then fell, face-
down, in the corner of the room. A hand closed around my neck. Two red dots glowed above me in the dark—like ground hematite, auburn leaves, or dried blood. Her eyes, I realized as she stared down at me, expressionless. She was beautiful and achingly ethereal—like an angel, or a devil, or a demon. My heart hammered wildly in my chest. “Don’t fight,” she said softly, almost empathetically.
Yeah right, I thought. I bit down on her fingers as she slipped them into my mouth. Blood squirted out over my tongue and I choked, disgusted. No, I can’t think about that now, I thought, and kept grinding on her bones. No matter how hard I chewed she didn’t make a sound. She pried my jaw open with a scientific precision and poured a bitter, powdery substance into my mouth. My mouth began to burn and I tried to call out but only a low, pathetic hissing emerged from deep on my throat, as if she’d replaced my voice with steam.
“Swallow,” she whispered. Her command was unnecessary. Instinct took over despite my conscious protests. My tongue rolled into the back of my throat, taking the detestable mixture with it. Immediately I tried to cough it up, but her hand did not leave my mouth or my nose. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die like this. I closed my eyes. No. It wasn’t over yet.
Camael. If I said that name my angel would come. He promised he would. I strained my throat. My entire body ached from trying to scream it. Camael. Camael. The name echoed in my head. I didn’t care that his name was the first thing I thought of when I needed help. I didn’t care if calling out for him now made me hypocritical or weak. I didn’t care that I hated depending him, or that he was my only hope. My hands shook as they tried to form into fists. Why couldn’t I say it? Why couldn’t I even whisper? Tears collected at the edges of my eyes but did not quite fall.
She took me in her arms, rested my head on her shoulder. I couldn’t move any more. I couldn’t even cry out as the burning from that powdery substance spread through my head and into my veins. My hands clenched into fists, then opened, then clenched again. They scraped her back but she didn’t notice. “Sleep, human sister,” she whispered as if it were an endearment. I couldn’t help but be soothed by that melodic voice and the subtle fragrance of her hair—earthy and tangy like cedar and lemon grass. The last thing I saw was an image of something pink and yellow checkered spinning in the corner as if it was the feature of a Pink Floyd laser light show. Then I drifted off into the sound of rain and the vast, empty darkness.
Chapter 18 Rough, unforgiving angles held my body. I stretched my legs, then winced. Rock scratched my ankles—it had already scraped my bare arms and the back of my neck, and I could feel the sting from dirt mixing with the new cuts. Sandalwood smoke drifted over my face, irritating my dry eyes. Someone was burning something. Maybe it’s me. Every inch of my skin seemed to be on fire. The sound of water dripping echoed in my head. My fuzzy vision couldn’t make out discrete shapes, just the soft, beautiful color of aquamarine light filtered around me like faerie dust. Everything was too loud—the incessant drip, drip, drip, my own uneven breath. It ached to look, to listen, even to remain still.
Perhaps this is what happens when you die, I thought. But no, according to Oz no part of my consciousness would exist after I’d died, so I certainly wouldn’t feel like
I’d just been hit by a truck. That observation should have comforted me, but I hurt too much to feel relieved. Footsteps echoed down the hallway. My heartbeat raced. That’s right, I’d been taken and no one knew because Oz had been late —or rather right on time because I’d made him give me those extra five minutes. I shouldn’t have negotiated with you, I thought. If I don’t make it out of this cave
alive you are going to hate yourself for that. And If I do make it out alive…well…you’re going to be a serious pain in the ass. I shut my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow. It probably wouldn’t do any good to pass out now, and there was still a chance that someone might find me. Camael. Yes, that’s right. The angel. He didn’t come though I’d screamed his name. My head started to pound—no, that wasn’t right. I’d failed to say it, though every part of me had tried. I cleared my throat and balled up my aching fists. I knew I could say it now if I tried hard enough. He’d said that he would come
if I said his name—that no matter where I was he would find me. “Camael,” I croaked with all my strength. The footsteps stopped. “You’re awake.” I winced. The woman’s voice pierced my eardrums, then rattled inside my skull. “You needn’t speak that name here,” she murmured as if the word Camael was a curse. “He won’t be able to hear you.” She stood above me. Her long gray hair fell across my cheek, and gave me a dark, bloody stare. I parted my lips and sucked in a breath. Her skin was gray instead of white, but those eyes were the same. I’d seen that color before when Forneus had threatened me in the mall. She was the woman he’d met that day. “Camael,” I repeated, louder and faster each time I said it. He would come. He’d promised. She probably just told me that because she didn’t want me to call him. The woman made no effort to silence me. “He won’t come. This place has been sealed.”
I grit my teeth. I had no idea what it meant for a place to be “sealed,” but it didn’t sound good. The fact that she hadn’t tried to shut me up was a bit disconcerting too—it was almost as if she really didn’t believe the angel could hear me. My heart pounded fiercely, making me dizzy though I was lying down. “Why am I here?” I asked. She was silent. Nothing but the drip, drip, drip and the sound of my own breath scraping against my dry throat. I coughed “Can I have water at least?” Something cool and soft pressed against my forehead, but it wasn’t wet. It was the back of her hand, and the feeling of her skin was so forgiving in contrast to the stones I’d been laid upon that it almost made me weep. “I can’t give you water,” she said. “I can’t let you drink again. I’m sorry.” My mind focused. “What? Do you mean to kill me?”
The woman didn’t object—didn’t even seem to acknowledge my statement. She turned her back to me, bent over, and picked up something from the floor. Moments later I heard the sound of grinding. “You do,” I whispered, more for myself than for her. She wouldn’t be surprised by the knowledge that she planned to kill me. She rose and turned. The ends of gauzy shift she wore drifted through the air like broken black spiderwebs. Once again, she leaned over and grabbed my chin. “I’m sorry, human sister.”
Don’t keep saying you’re sorry. If you were you’d let me go. You wouldn’t kill me . But instead of screaming those things I just I asked: “Why did you call me sister?” My voice sounded dissonant compared to hers. Her expression softened as she cupped my face. I squirmed. None of this made sense. Why did she touch me so tenderly when she was going to kill me? She leaned forward until I could feel the warmth of her lips on my cheek. “Because
as a being of pure soul you have also been denied God’s grace.” My eyes widened. “How do you know?” She smiled and stepped back, and the blue light from above produced a halo over her gray hair. Her eyes weren’t looking at me or anywhere in particular, but remembering some place far beyond the dank, rocky walls. “You met one of us once who didn’t recognize it at first, didn’t you?” She set down the bowl she’d been grinding something into on the corner of stone altar I’d been laid upon and dipped her hand into it. “His willful ignorance comes at a great cost for himself and those who love him.” I strained the muscles in my back as I tried to sit up. One of us, she’d said. Was she talking about Oz? Did that mean she really was a demon? “Do you know Oz?” I asked. She pulled her hand from the bowl. A gray, powdery substance covered her palm. It looked like ash, I thought as she closed her fist. “Yes, I know Azazel.”
I cringed. Hearing that name from her lips didn’t seem right—it made me feel as if I knew nothing about him. Well you don’t, I told myself. Or at least not as much as this woman does. Something soothing and oily dripped onto my chin. Slowly, I felt her fingers trace a cross on my forehead. Then, with the other hand, she sprinkled the ashy powder over the mark. It smelled like juniper. “Why are you putting all this gunk on me if you’re just going to—” I couldn’t finish. Was I really going to die in some random cave beside a crazy demon lady? I’d been so stupid to think I was safe in my room just because my door was locked. Instead of trying to fight off this chick I should have called out for the angel to come back and save me. In fact, I shouldn’t have even sent him away in the first place. And I should have let Oz follow me inside. He’d said that he’d already seen me act childish, and that was far less embarrassing than me crying because some guy hadn’t burst through the door yet to save me.
I squeezed my eyes shut. My eyes were too bleary to see anything anyway. What was the good of being damned if I didn’t have any powers I could use to protect myself against supernatural? Oil ran off my forehead and into my eyes. It stung and mixed with my tears and ran down my cheeks until my whole face smelled like juniper. I couldn’t stand it. “Why?” I asked again. I didn’t bother trying to sound strong anymore. She seemed to have some misplaced affection for me. Maybe I could make her feel guilty and she would stop all this. Yeah, great plan
Devi. Let’s depend on the compassion of a demon who’s decided to kill you slowly. She stopped for a moment. “I must do this so that neither Azazel nor the angel can bring you back to life.” My lips cracked as I smiled. “I noticed you didn’t include Forneus in that line-up.” She poured more powder on my face. It tickled my nose and made me sneeze. “Forneus couldn’t do anything even if he
wanted to,” she replied. “Devils don’t possess those kinds of powers.” Even if he wanted to? Alright, I knew that Forneus didn’t exactly like me but that seemed a bit harsh. The lady’s fingers mirrored the path of the tears on her face. “I am sorry. This next part will hurt a lot. I will go as quickly as I can.” I shuddered. If my body hurt, did my brother’s body hurt too? Camael had said that we were connected—that my brother would live as long as I lived. No, I can’t die
yet. I don’t even know where you are, Kai. I haven’t saved you. My heartbeat raced as I tried to grip my stiff fingers into fists. I couldn’t damn my brother after I’d abandoned him. “Why are you doing this?” I screamed. She looked down and twisted her hands in her shift until I heard the fabric rip. “Because if you live then you will kill the man I love,” she whispered. My throat closed. The cave turned into a dripping, aquamarine surreal nightmare. The
lines of the rocks seemed too sharp, too perfect. I could see the incense swirling near the cave’s entrance, then disappearing into the indigo light as if it were teasing me, or enticing me to follow. The woman’s face, also, looked too perfect. Everything, from her straight, regal nose to those high cheekbones seemed to cut my eyes when I looked at her. “I won’t kill anybody! I don’t want to kill anybody!” I yelled. I didn’t care how much it hurt. She needed to know that I would never do that. She looked away. “I don’t doubt that you have no intention of killing, but you don’t have a choice. It is a demon’s curse.” I tried to prop myself up on my arms up. They were still heavy, like solid rock. Agonizingly I wiggled my fingers. “What are you talking about? So what if the demons are cursed. I can decide not to do it. I would never do something like that.” She made a shushing sound. “Azazel hasn’t told you,” she sighed. “I guess that isn’t surprising, though he should have. It
should have been the first thing he said to you when he realized his feelings. Either that or he should have just left, as all of us are supposed to do.” “I don’t understand,” I babbled, barely able to form words. I’d pass out if I didn’t stop breathing so quickly. She turned around. The smoke followed her like a second cloak. “When we choose Eden over heaven God condemned the earth, to punish both it and the angels who had been chosen to guard it,” she began. “I think our Father believed that we would grow weary of death, loathe the endless cycles of the seasons, and soon despise the natural world so much that we would repent. But long after the mates we had first chosen died we angels remained in our fallen state, unrepentant—some of us, perhaps, even loved the transience of this plane because it made us cherish each moment.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. Her red eyes glowed softly, glistening. “So God made an additional curse: that every demon who fell in love would one day be murdered
by the one they loved most in the cruelest way possible.” Her words ripped through me. Seared me. How could God have done that to His
own children? To Oz… No, it couldn’t be true. I didn’t want to kill anyone, and certainly not him. I really liked him. I more than liked him. I wasn’t a murderer, and no one, not even God, could make me one.
Eternity would seem empty without him. The slick, smooth voice washed over me, making my hair stand on end. Forneus had said that to me, once. Is this what he meant? That I would kill Oz? What else had he said to me? Azazel doesn’t deserve this. No, Oz didn’t deserve this. None of us did. “I don’t believe you,” I murmured. My words lacked power. Because you know she’s right, a little, nagging voice inside of me called out. A sharp pang seized my heart when I glanced at the demon woman again, and I realized that I felt something akin to tenderness for the being that would destroy
me. “Devi,” she said. “That is your name, isn’t it? I do not hate you. I could not. I can see why Oz fell in love with you. Your soul is…” she came forward and rested her cheek upon the edge of the stone that cradled me. “It is like that first glimpse of Eden right after the fall, when neither angels, nor man, nor beast knew the sorrows that awaited them. Those moments, I think, were the ones we loved best—when we angels could touch the world we’d yearned for without fear or regret.” I sucked in a breath. “You’re wrong about Oz. It doesn’t matter if he loves me. He loves everything—even pancakes—and he hasn’t died of a heart attack.” She closed her eyes and chuckled. “We do love everything. Or at least most of us do, anyway,” she said, still smiling though her humor was dimming quickly. “But he is falling in love with you. I know, even if you have not realized it yet.” She stood up and walked to the center of the cave. I noticed that a circle of
nondescript sedimentary rocks had been piled in even integrals around the room. She looked up at the aquamarine light filtering above her once, then crouched, picked up another pouch and began grinding again. “There has to be a way to stop this,” I said. “I don’t want to kill him. I won’t do it.” Her eyes met mine like a hawk. “This is the way to stop it.” I swallowed to regain my nerve. “No one has ever escaped this fate, then?” Her wrist faltered, and a drop of sweat or a single tear dripped off her chin onto her thumb. She wiped it away and inhaled once, heavily. “This is the only way Azazel will be saved.” She hadn’t answered my question. That meant that there might have been someone, I realized. But if that was the case why didn’t she just tell me? Before I could respond a shadow shifted from the other side of the cave. “Breaking taboos, I see.”
My heartbeat skipped. I knew that voice. “Forneus?” I whispered, but I couldn’t see anyone other than the demon lady yet. He couldn’t be here. Why would he be? “Don’t sound so happy to see him,” the demon warned, grinding whatever her bowl contained with a vengeance. “He isn’t here to help you.” For a second I couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean?” “She’s right.” I heard the rustling of gravel as his feet slithered closer. I blinked and Forneus was above me. The light reflected in his eyes like a purple fire, and his skin appeared luminescent. He looked me over with detached eyes. “You’ve been seeing to her comfort?” “There is no need to make this more painful than it has to be,” the demon lady replied. He tisked. “You’ve always had a bleeding heart, Onoskelis. But at this point you should pick up the pace.” She looked up and pursed her lips.
“How close are they?” “We have two hours, maybe,” he responded. My chest began a rapid rise and fall. “Oz is coming?” I cringed. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Forneus raised a brow. My arms trembled from my desire to smack him. Why was he still standing in front of me? I really didn’t want Forneus to be the last thing I saw. He shifted on his feet but didn’t move. For a moment I wondered if he could read my thoughts. “Still placing your faith in others?” He ran his finger down the underside my forearm. It tickled and—to my infinite humiliation—I giggled. He stepped back grinned back at me as if he’d done something to be proud of. Even after he’d removed his hand I still felt the waxy touch of his fingers. “Why are you here, Forneus?” He brought his hands together over his lips in a mockery of prayer. “I’m going to
return your remains to my Prince.” I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t expect this man to like me. I didn’t expect him to care for me. I thought he hated me, but there was no scorn in his voice or eyes. I was a tool. It was as simple as that. I meant something only in as much as I was useful to him. “What will Oz do when he finds out your here?” I asked, unable to hide the bitterness from my voice. Forneus didn’t even try to claim that Oz wouldn’t find out. “He won’t be happy,” he said. Well, obviously, I thought but kept my mouth shut. Forneus continued with a dazzling smile: “But, on the other hand, Lucifer will be pleased.” “And he doesn’t care if I’m dead or alive?” I rasped. He shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll take what I can get.” How could I get out of this? Well, since I couldn’t even move that was going to be hard. Could I stall the ritual for a few hours,
though? That might give Oz enough time to find me. Onoskelis seemed to feel guilty about killing me. If Forneus left I could try to talk to reason with her somehow. It might work. But Forneus was still there. I closed my eyes. The air smelled of sea salt but I couldn’t hear waves or the wails of seagulls. The only sound that echoed through the caves was the grinding of Onoskelis’ crude stone tools, reminding me of the fragility of my own bones and the cold fate that awaited me. Death wasn’t something I contemplated much and, even after I’d I knew I had no spirit it still hadn’t bothered me. But the knowledge that I would die here, and that my brother would soon follow, was too much. Oil clogged my tear ducts. It felt like my eyes were about to burst. Oz, I’m so glad I
kissed you—I’m glad I felt that at least once. He’d told me that mortality made each moment more poignant. Perhaps there was something beautiful about that moment in the heart of this cave, surrounded by the
scent of seawater. If there was he’d probably find it—he’d want this experience even if it came with inflamed lungs and aching limbs. “What are you thinking about, Devi?” Onoskelis asked. I blinked. “What?” “Your soul is expanding.” She came closer, crouched next to me. Her eyes glowed like embers, and as I looked into her face I remembered how much demons coveted the soul. She’d ached for moments such as this in her long life—in fact she still did. “Does loving life ever hurt you?” I asked. “Do you sometimes wish you could guard yourself against your love for God’s creation, or learn to hate it?” The air went cold, and a tangible silence hung over us like mist. Damn, I’d said too much… Onoskelis looked up. “Sometimes,” she said softly. “Like right now. I wish you weren’t so beautiful, but if you weren’t I suppose you and I wouldn’t be here.” She stood and
wiped the palm of her hand on her robe. “But this world is full of beautiful things, and none of them are lasting except those of us who were once called Watchers. After you are gone he will live for eternity.” “And you think you’ll be beside him?” I asked, voice shaking. She smiled sadly. “No. It is no longer my place. He realized that my attachment to him had grown too much, and so he left. It is too difficult for the one who is in love to leave, and so I swore that if he was ever in that situation I would help him no matter the cost.” I could feel her love for him, just as I could smell the scent of cedar and salt. And I knew the answer to the question I dared not ask—that he would kill her one day because she was a demon and she loved him. Perhaps he would even kill her for this, and she recognized it. “I need to go for a while. Don’t try to move. You won’t be able to, and trying will only hurt you.” She slipped beyond the aquamarine lit barrier and soon I could hear her footsteps no more.
I exhaled. For a moment I felt relieved… until I realized I was alone with Forneus.
Chapter 19 Footsteps grew louder as a shadow blossomed into a horrific shape. I didn’t know if my fear was due to the drugs, or a trick of my subconscious, or if it was simply because I knew Forneus was approaching. I tried to steady my breath as his purple gaze caught mine. “Giving up so soon?” He asked smoothly. I turned my head, ignoring the crook in my neck. Maybe if I didn’t answer he’d lose interest and go away. Yeah, because
Forneus so resembled a dog begging to be pet or taken on a walk. The sound of his toe tapping on the stone floor filled the cave, forcing the rhythm of my thoughts to conform to his irritating pace. I whipped my head around to face him. “Stop—” Before I could finish something tasteless yet cold slipped into my mouth. I pushed my tongue forward, puckered up my lips like a fish and tried to spit it out. Forneus
bit back a curse as my teeth sank into his hand. “Devi,” he snarled as if I’d done something unreasonable.
You—all of you—stop force feeding me! My fists shook from trying to scream as more juniper oil streamed into my eyes. Forneus sighed. “Devi,” he repeated softly. If I hadn’t known better I would have described it as a coo. Wait, he was cooing at me like a dove—or more accurately like a mother playing with her baby’s feet. Terror wrapped an ice cold fist around my throat. What was going on? How could something like him even make such a sound? “I can’t have you die on me so easily,” he murmured as he lowered his face. My stomach turned. Was he going to kiss my ear? No, if those thin, pallid lips touched me… He stopped his descent centimeters from my skin. His breath, indistinguishable in both temperature and scent from the breeze sifting through the cave, fanned over my face. “As it turns out you are worth more to
me alive than dead.” My eyes widened. Forneus wanted to save me? “Oz is coming?” Forneus smiled. “Hopefully long after we’re gone.” I frowned. “What do you mean? Aren’t you working with him?” He stepped back, pressing his long fingers against his lips. “Did I say I intended to save you?” He chuckled. “I just can’t let you die—well, die completely.” The icy stiffness in my body became more acute. Blue light filtered all around us, making his form shimmer as if he were made of plastic or ether. No part of him looked real, and even his words sounded like the lies of an envious phantom. “What do you mean die completely?” I asked. He ran a sharp nail across my neck and I felt a tingle, somehow, on the inside of my throat. “I can’t bring you to Hell alive. My little agreement with Oz makes it impossible for me to do that.” His eyes narrowed. “I can’t kill you myself, either.”
Wow. That Forneus, what a charmer. “So you’re saying that you would kill me if you could?” The right corner of his lip curled up. “Do you really want me to answer that?” I looked down at the puss foaming from the purple scratches on my wrists. God, they were gross—but I was even more surprised by the fact that I barely felt them. Was my body already dying? “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” I told him evenly. “I need your cooperation, so it’s better if there are no lies between us.” I didn’t believe that—more likely he was taking advantage of the fact that no one could stop him from taking cheap shots at me and fabricating justifications afterward. Making a deal with something like him was out of the question, but I couldn’t let myself die. If I did, my brother would also…No, I couldn’t think of that. If I did I’d fall apart. I sucked in a breath. This was stupid, and I was going to regret this later. “Alright. What if I accept the original offer you made
me? I’ll let you do whatever. I’ll even hold your hand as we skip all the way down to Hell. Just don’t let me die.” His eyes hardened the moment I pleaded for my life. My swollen arms felt the air move as he snatched my wrists and pressed them deeper into the rock. Above, his chest heaved mere inches from my nose. Stupid Forneus, I thought. It was pointless to restrain someone who already couldn’t move. His voice was so close it felt like it was emanating from inside me. “It’s a little late for that now.” He let go of my wrist and brushed some hair behind my ear. “Besides, I think you’re going to find what happens next extremely uncomfortable. I’m going to enjoy watching.” Alright, he didn’t need to be that honest. “You’re sick,” I rasped. “I’m just telling you the truth.” He leaned back and pressed his thumb against my lips. My tongue flicked against it and tasted newspaper. “I’m not going to save you from
Onoskelis’ noble murder, sweetheart. But do you want to live after she is finished with you?” His question echoed through my skull. Of course I wanted to live—I had to. That wasn’t the issue. “I don’t trust you,” I whispered. He turned his head to hide his smile. “Good, you’re learning. Though unfortunately in this case you don’t have much of a say in the matter. The soul decomposes much faster than the body because its existence is tied to your body’s ability to perceive. Since you don’t have a spirit your soul can’t leach off your body’s memories to prolong the process—i.e. become a ghost, and Onoskelis’ ritual will make you disappear even faster. I predict you’ll be gone moments after your death.” His nails scraped my chin as he caught it. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth. “Look at me,” he hissed. “No, I don’t want—” “You know I can’t lie,” he interrupted,
“but I want you to know deep in your heart that I speak the truth. Look at me.” My eyes opened. Immediately I wished I hadn’t given in. The angles of his face were harsh—a desolate landscape of unearthly white skin stretched over bone. The way he looked at me made me feel as if I were already dead. “Onoskelis will kill you,” he began. “Nothing you say or do will sway her, and I cannot stop her. Even if demons weren’t inherently stronger than devils, she’s marked this cave so it is now a source of her power. This is your last and only chance to survive.” I choked as I tried to force down the knot in my throat. “What are you offering exactly?” His eyes gleamed. “I’ll bind your soul to something other than your body. Then, when my Prince arranges your resurrection, your soul will be returned.” An electric chill shot through me. This “plan” sounded like a half-baked knock-off of Frankenstein. What exactly was he going stick my poor soul into? Probably the most
disgusting and mortifying object he could find. I didn’t want to become some fragmented monster. I certainly didn’t want monsters—or, even worse, devils—piecing me back together. “What do you mean?” I croaked. He reached into the front pocket of his wool overcoat “There is a cave not so very different from this one that one must walk down before entering Purgatory. In it is a certain kind of rock that exists nowhere else in this universe.” He opened his fist. His palm cradled a rock as black and smooth as obsidian. Slowly, he flipped it over. I stopped breathing. The other side glowed with a deep, complex purple even more brilliant than Forenus’ eyes. He pressed his forefinger against it and the purple mass quivered as if it were an urchin bending to the will of the tide. “See this?” He asked reverently. “It is the Rukha-HaYim. It grows only on these rocks.” I couldn’t tear my gaze from the florescent, swaying tentacle-like arms of the plant. “I don’t understand,” I stuttered.
“Really?” He asked incredulously, then continued in a softer tone: “Do you know what the most sublime living beings in the universe are?” I just stared at him. Was he serious? How would I know this? I didn’t even know the definition of at least one of the words in that sentence. Forneus sighed. “Of course you don’t. The answer is plants. Plants are the most sublime living beings because they aspire to their origins; a plants sole desire is to grow towards the sun, and it spends its entire life growing towards the sun.” He peeled the purple lichen from the rock. It made a squishy sound as the tentacles stretched toward the rock they’d been pulled from. “This plant is somewhat different,” he continued. “Instead of the sun it tries to grow towards God’s grace. At the end of the cave, just before one steps into the land of condemned spirits, the Rukha-HaYim grows so thick that the entrance shines like a bottomless, amethyst well. Yet, just as an earthly plant never reaches the sun, this plant
cannot leave the rock that both granted and sustained its life. Do you still not understand?” I bit my lip. I still didn’t get it, but I admit that to him. He’d just roll his eyes and confuse me even more. When I didn’t answer, Forneus proceeded to roll his eyes. Time to confuse me, I thought grimly as he wet his lips. “Look, the Rukha-HaYim has absorbed the spirits of men, just as plants on earth absorb the sun. After consumption it will dissolve into your cells and infuse them with God’s grace. When your body dies, your soul will seep into the nearest object—in this case, the remnants of the Rukha-HaYim—and, because of its relationship with this piece of earth that birthed and nourished it, the rock will act as your body’s proxy.” Alright, I understood that. Sort of. “So that’s why you’re putting me in that rock instead of something else?” Forneus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and
forefinger. “Obviously it’s not easy to bend the laws of nature. The most powerful magic stems from breaking something which should never be broken. You of all people should understand that.” My eyes darted to the squirming plant in his hand. How was it able to shudder like that? No wait, plants couldn’t shudder or squirm, I reminded myself. But somehow the Rukha-HaYim managed to do those things and, as much as I loathed to admit it, I understood why. It didn’t want to be separated. The muscles in my stomach clenched into knots. That thing is just a plant, Devi, I repeated. Yet still, I couldn’t squelch the awful feeling that something wasn’t right. “Isn’t what you’re doing cruel?” My voice shook, sounding like a victim’s instead of a co-conspirator’s. He wet his lips. “Of course. What aspect of creation isn’t?” He pressed the plant to my mouth. The surface was so soft it tickled, like moss made of silk. “Don’t be
sentimental. I’m glad you recognize this being’s superiority to yourself, but I can’t afford to let you die. Besides, your respite won’t be pleasant, for you’ll be trapped in a kind of Purgatory—neither alive nor dead. It is a cruel and unnatural scheme—almost as cruel and unnatural as God’s decision to bring a conscious being into the world without a spirit.” He glanced at me. “Are you going to be a good girl and swallow it or must I force you?” I turned my head. “Wait. I can’t…” Forneus raised his brow expectantly. If I accept your offer, will it kill my brother when I died? Are the two of us like that plant? If his body dies, where will his spirit go? The unasked questions tingled in my throat. Could I trust him with that information? Okay, I already knew the answer to that. But could I afford to not tell him? “It seems like you want to say something else to me, Devi. I’m not a patient man.” I closed my eyes and swallowed. Yes,
this could give him some unseen advantage over me, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t eat that if participating in this plot resulted in my brother’s death. “I—I don’t know if I can eat that.” Forneus exhaled sharply. There was no turning back now. “You see, if I die, my brother will die too.” There. I didn’t say anything about him not having a soul or that we should have been one person. I just hoped that was enough. The air went still. Finally, Forneus’ voice broke the cave’s ambiance: “Is that so?” I glanced at him. His body was taught, his breathing rapid and shallow. I couldn’t decipher the meaning of the look he gave me—a deep mixture of hatred, excitement, and disbelief. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the strange expression dissipated. “You won’t be alive or dead, or even in between those two states. Just separated. Incomplete. If your brother is truly tied to you in that way, he will be severed as well, though when my Prince has you
resurrected then he will also return to normal.” He looked at my lips. Was Forneus intentionally avoiding my eyes? “Onoskelis’ ritual will only last another fifteen minutes at best.” He blurted out as he pried open my mouth unceremoniously and dropped the Rukha-HaYim on my tongue. “Swallow,” he demanded. I did. It wasn’t that bad—cool and somewhat minty—but still he slipped his hand over my mouth and began massaging my throat as if I were a cat refusing to take a pill. He didn’t release me until I was practically foaming at the mouth. “Wha-wha—” I gasped. Part of the plant had lodged itself in the wrong tube thanks to his encouraging little “pets.” “Be patient,” he said, tone laced with excitement. “It will dissolve in a few minutes.” My eyes bugged out. It must have looked horrific. Normally I would have loved forcing Forneus to watch me while I looked disgusting, but I had a feeling that at that moment he was enjoying it. I squinted, trying
to sharpen my bleary vision. “You did that on purpose.” “I couldn’t afford to have you change your mind.” He smiled. “Sorry I can’t give you a n y water either. That would dampen Onoskelis’ plans.” I shut my eyes. Wow, he certainly sounded proud of himself. If I was feeling better I probably would have laughed, just because I’d never heard anyone wield a pun that menacingly outside of a Schwarzenegger movie. “You’re such a bastard.” “Perhaps,” he drawled, running a hand through his purple hair. “But at least I won’t be responsible for the death of someone I care about.” A tremor slid down my spine. “What do you mean?” “Didn’t you listen to Onoskelis? You’re going to murder my best warrior and companion.” Everything stopped—the sound of water, the inconsistent rhythm of my breath
—everything except my escalating heartbeat. He’s lying. They’re all lying. But Forneus didn’t lie and, if I was strong enough to look past my fear, I would realize that I’d already acknowledged their warning was true. “No—” I yelled. I’m not going to hurt—” Forneus slammed his fist next to me on the rock slab. The rock cracked. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it—couldn’t get the sound out of my head. His slim, finely sculpted body didn’t seem that strong. “Shut up!” He cringed. “Or at least have the decency to not mock me with your simian delusions.” I continued as if I hadn’t heard him. “I would never hurt him. I promise to find a way.” He snorted. “Oh, so you think you’re going to solve the problem that has stumped every divine child since the fall of Adam? You, who probably didn’t even understand the significance between the rock and the Rukha-HaYim after I explained it to you.” He caught my eyes with his lethal gaze. “Those
are the kinds of things you would have had to have studied for centuries to even trick yourself into thinking you could find a solution.” My jaw locked halfway open. I couldn’t say anything because he was right. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t get any of this. Why did it have to be this way? If God hated everything so much, why did He even create it in the first place? Why did he have to punish me for finding something I cared about in this world he made? My heart was beating so fast that it felt like I was choking. I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt Oz. That determination had to mean something. Perhaps my love could… Forneus planted both hands on the slab by my side and bent over. As he scratched his nails across the rock my skin crawled. “This is what I despise most about beings such as yourself—how predatory and crass you are—how you go through life just doing things without contemplating the meaning of your actions. Even I, who find existence on this plane detestable, have dedicated my life
to understanding it.” He glanced up. Behind his long bangs his teeth flashed. “Perhaps if you spent more time bettering yourself you wouldn’t have to rely on others to come and save you from these impossible situations you get yourself into.” “Please stop,” I whispered. I didn’t want to hear those kinds of criticisms from him. More than that, I didn’t want to admit that part of what he’d said made sense. “Do you think you should be sheltered from the truth simply because you don’t like it?” The sound of his voice slithered sinuously over my skin. I felt like he was getting closer though he did not move, or that some barrier between us was fading. The room spun. Streaks of neon purple filled my vision. God I hated that color. “How weak and pathetic you are really bothers you, doesn’t it?” He asked.
Yes. You know it does. So why do you torment me about it? There were a thousand hateful words I wanted to sling at him but I couldn’t even think of one.
His lip curled. “Don’t you dare stare at me with those large, teary eyes. I see nothing beautiful when I look at you, just someone that can’t die fast enough—but no, even that isn’t right, because you’re death will probably bring about the death of everything I care about and have worked for.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered. A roaring filled the cave—the same sound one hears when they place a seashell up to their ear. I doubted Forneus noticed my quiet apology. I didn’t even feel like I was worth enough to speak. He brought his fist down again on the edge of the slab, breaking off a hunk of rock. Dark, almost-black purple liquid seeped from the side of his fist. He flipped his overcoat open and wiped it on his white shirt. “Again, there you go acting as if you’re virtuous because of your guilt. I bet you even think you’ll be able to change this fate with the strength of your unflinching adolescent love, when Onoskelis told you specifically that he was punished because he loved the
world more than God.” He gripped his shirt. More blood dripped from his wrist and flowed down the white fabric like ink spilled on rice paper. “You’re not going to respond?” He chuckled. “Of course not. You’re just going to stare at me until my little lecture is over so you can go back to acting the same way you did before. Well, I’m not going to make that possible for you. If you hurt him I’ll strip you of every joy and make every second of your fleeting existence excruciating.” The sound of my rapid breath filled the cave. Was he serious? He looked serious. His eyes went dark when I didn’t respond. “Maybe I should start by having some fun with that little squinty-eyed friend of yours.” I spat in his face. Forneus’ hand whipped up. He’s going to slap me. No, he’s going to kill me. My face is going to shatter like this slab of rock did when he beat it. I knew I should have regretted spitting on him but I couldn’t. I felt a deep, terrifying satisfaction as the wad of
spit slipped down his cheek. Yeah, I was a disgusting, stupid, spiritless creature and that’s how we expressed our anger when we couldn’t think of anything brilliant to say or raise our tiny, futile fists. His hand flexed in the air. I grit my teeth and braced myself for the sting. It didn’t come. I cracked open my eyes just in time to see him brush his hand over the spot on his cheek where my spit had landed. “Cute,” he murmured. “What are you doing Forneus?” Onoskelis’ voice resounded in the cavern. Every hair on my body stood on end. How did she get there? I’d been so engrossed in Forneus’ threats that I hadn’t heard her footsteps. A damp chill swept through the air as she stepped forward, like she’d cloaked herself in sea spray and evening breeze. Forneus turned from me, still rubbing his cheek. “Just giving her something to think about in her final moments,” he replied smoothly
Onoskelis stopped when she reached his side and bared her teeth. Her hand curled into a claw and she raised it. Forneus didn’t even flinch when she struck him. I knew I should look away. People generally didn’t look great after they’d suffered a beating, but Forenus got especially ugly. Still, I couldn’t. Her fingernail had left a trail of blood inches below his eye. His cheek paled and the skin around the wound peeled back and crumbled like chalk smashed in a fist. “That wasn’t very nice,” he murmured. “You know how difficult it is for me to heal from your little outbursts.” “Do you ever tire of maintaining your beauty?” She asked with polite detachment —you know, as if she hadn’t just slashed him. “Go stick your face in the ocean. It should heal in a few days. The mark will fade in about a week.” Forneus slunk into the shadows until all I could see were his glowing, violet eyes. I was alone with Onoskelis above me.
She raised the bloody hand that had just struck Forneus and ripped open my shirt. I shivered, partly from the cold, and partly from the feeling of that devil’s blood dripping onto my skin. “I’ll do this as quickly as possible,” she said without meeting my eyes, and slipped her fingernails beneath my skin. My breathing came faster. Hotter. She pushed her palm into the center of my chest. Heat shot out from my center. My heart shattered like a glass pushed onto the floor, and the shards flew throughout my body, cutting into my organs and up through my skin. She dipped her fingers into the cup by her side and repeated the process again. Again. It sung like alcohol in a wound, but it wasn’t a purifying sting. Instead the liquid on her nails seemed to cut deeper, sinking into my center. I could feel the poison throbbing throughout my body—shooting through my veins into my limbs, up my throat, and deep inside the back of my head. Her face never changed. Her eyes were on me, only on me, with determination.
Without empathy. The being who cradled my face, who told me she was sorry, was gone. In this person’s eyes I saw personified every fear I’d ever had about demons: creatures who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted—deceptive, cruel, altruistic. And inside me, a fearful voice spoke: This is their true face; Oz’s true face. Inhuman screams echoed throughout the cavity. No, that was me, wailing like I’d been possessed. Somehow it made it even more horrific that I couldn’t recognize that sound, as if the pain had consumed every part of me until only it was left. With all my being I sucked in a breath and wished for release from this intolerable, incessant pain, even if that release was death. I exhaled sharply, and it stopped. Onoskelis fell back, raised her bloody fists to her face. I tried to move, I tried to breath, I couldn’t even manage that. And my eyes, which should only have been able to see the space directly above, could see the entire room.
No. My mind refused to believe it—or at least whatever there was in place of my mind—but I couldn’t ignore it. I felt panic but no chill upon my skin. I was afraid but my heartbeat didn’t escalate or even beat at all. I wanted to cry but my throat didn’t close. It was all because I no longer had a body. “Is it done?” Onoskelis whispered. Forneus stepped forward. “Yes. Her soul has dissipated. You can’t see it anymore, can you?” She looked away and sank to the ground. Tears filled her eyes. Then she repeated his words: “I can’t see it anymore.” “That really was distasteful,” Forneus said dispassionately. “Don’t look at me like that, either. If this was going to upset you so much you probably shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” He swallowed. “Can I have the body now?” She pulled her knees to her chest and nodded. Forneus picked a sheet up from the shadows and draped it over me. Blood
seeped through the sheet as he wrapped me up. The juxtaposition of red and white on stone made my body look like a sacrifice upon an altar. Why couldn’t I feel anything? Part of me wanted to return to that husk of flesh even if it meant enduring more pain. The other part wanted to flee and forget this place, but I had no way of moving. So I watched Forneus prepare my corpse methodically and without tenderness. I hated him for that. I wanted to lie down next to myself—perhaps even embrace it until I fell asleep. It hurt to watch someone ignore all I’d been. As Forneus finished, Onoskelis pulled her lips back like she was contemplating hissing. But she didn’t hiss or move. “Forneus,” she whispered. A threat was hidden in the way she spoke his name. Forneus’ wrist tensed as he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. “Yes?” He sounded bored and, aside from that one twitch, walked forward as if nothing had happened. Still he must have noticed the intensity of the air, the subtle
violence in her voice. She stood and narrowed her eyes. “What is that in your pocket?”
Chapter 20 “Oh, that,” Forneus replied, not answering her question. Onoskelis stepped forward. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” He dropped my body unceremoniously to the ground and stopped, but did not turn to face her. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.” She raised a brow. “Strange for you to rely on hope.” Light flashed throughout the cavern, harsh and incandescent. It would’ve rendered me blind if my bodiless form had possessed physical eyes. Murky, purple smoke filled the room after the flash, and Forneus was nowhere to be seen. Onoskelis paced. “Do you honestly think this parlor trick will prevent me from finding you? Your illusions won’t be able to hide you since I know you’re here, and you don’t have enough strength to create another barrier to hide yourself behind.”
“No,” Forneus’ bodiless voice answered. “But it doesn’t matter. Azazel should be here soon.” She leaned back on her heels and smirked. “Does he know about the deal we made?” Silence, then: “No.” “It’s dangerous to play both sides. By whose hand would you rather be sent back to Hell?” Onoskelis kept her lips pursed when she finished speaking, then cupped her palms beneath her chin and blew, scattering dust over the purple, unearthly mist. The dust subdued the mist and settled on twelve forms. The figures stepped forward in unison, and then looked up. Twelve pairs of violet eyes gleamed through the fog like lanterns on a small ship lost at sea. “You’re serious?” Onoskelis said, then continued as if she wasn’t expecting a response. “It’s foolish for a devil to engage a demon. Devils aren’t as strong. They can’t
heal. Their binding powers don’t work directly on heavenly or demonic creatures. They can’t call upon the powers of an animal, and because you erected such a strong barrier to hide our location you can’t call one of your demons to help you. There is no way you can beat me.” Forneus didn’t respond, but the twelve phantom bodies ignited. One of them blasted a line of purple flame into the middle of the room, covering Onoskelis’ body. When the smoke cleared she spun in a circle, charred face glaring at Forneus’ puppets. Though half of her body’s meat had been singed off the bone, it was knitting itself back together quickly. “Cute trick, but mere illusions aren’t going to be enough to defeat me.” She picked up a rock, blew on it, and hurled it into one of the flames. The flame and the ghostly figure sizzled, then evaporated. She picked up another rock and blew on it. This time Forneus did not wait for her attack. The flames dashed into the middle of the room, scalding Onoskeilis once more.
“That must have been difficult for you,” she said as her body knit itself back together again. “That blast wasn’t nearly as powerful as the first. You shouldn’t expend your energy so quickly. Then again, you’re so much weaker than me it doesn’t matter.” Forneus lashed out again. This time I could visibly see the difference between his strike and his earlier strikes. I wondered how the frail-looking woman in the middle of the room could withstand this blue flame. But then again she was a demon, a creature of earth, and Forenus was pure spirit. Onoskelis kept throwing rocks until all but one flame was extinguished. “There you are,” she whispered, creeping forward. Forneus clutched his stomach. His overcoat and shirt were torn and burned. Bruises and small cuts littered his face, as if he’d already endured the punishment her sharp gaze promised she would deliver to him. “What should I do with you?” She hissed as she caressed his shoulder. His eyes watched her hand’s ascent wearily, but I
noticed his breathing had quickened. “Not going to say anything?” She asked, then yanked down on his arm. A popping sound echoed throughout the cave. Forenus bit through his lip and stifled a moan. “Ask me again after dislocating my other shoulder.” “Do you think this is funny?” She grabbed his throat and threw him against the wall. Her other hand reached inside his overcoat pocket—or at least tried to. On contact the pocket flashed purple. The scent of burning flesh filled the cave as Onoskelis reared back, screaming and cradling her hand. The flames sank deeper into her hand, using her bones like kindling. She wrapped her other hand around it and brought it to her stomach and narrowed her eyes. “Nice work,” she whispered, and grabbed his hair to bring up his head. “But how long can you maintain such a potent anti-demon barrier when you’re hurt?” “You won’t break through it,” he
whispered. “You’re probably right. But that won’t stop me from tearing you apart until you can’t tell anyone about that little treasure in your pocket. I doubt our friend will recognize its importance on his own.” She pinched his cheeks and smiled, then dipped her finger into his mouth. He didn’t try to stop her when she tore out his tongue. He only filled the cave with desperate, craven screams as his body began to rot and peel in her arms. The image and smell didn’t faze her. She punched through his chest and pulled his intestines from his center. “Disgusting creature, aren’t you?” She mumbled, squeezing his neck until she’d crushed his windpipe. “How many thousands of years will you rot in this cave? I doubt Azazel will help you now.” Forneus tried to speak, but all that emerged was blood from the open holes in his throat. Death embedded itself in his rotting, disgusting form—clung to him long after his seared flesh had dripped off his bones. Yet, though his true form carried the
image of his death he himself would never die. If I could have closed my eyes I would have. This was the true body of a devil, and it embodied his curse. My hatred for Forneus flickered like a flame subdued by breeze. What was this sensation? It couldn’t have been pity. How could I ever pity such a vile man? But something in his expression moved me. Detached from my body, my soul recognized a part of him I hadn’t acknowledged before. Onoskelis dug her heel into his chest. His ribcage broke, mimicking the sound of twigs snapping off a branch. What granted him the strength to exist during times like that? Perhaps nothing—after all, he couldn’t have died even if he’d wanted to. Still I didn’t accept that explanation. He twisted his jaw, opening the dark empty sockets of his cheeks as he tried to speak. What does he want? I wondered as an ache seized my soul, attempting to mimic the pangs of a heart breaking. I knew what I would want in his situation—the words I would futilely try to say.
Release me. There would never be a release for him, no matter how many times he tried to change his fate or ease his pain. If that was the only feeling I was capable of then I might have come to loathe existence as well. A devil’s sin was pride, wasn’t it? Maybe he’d originally just wanted to change the world— to enhance its beauty, or see himself in it, or make something that rivaled God’s creation. Or more likely these musings were just my sympathy trying to give meaning to his cruel actions so I could understand them. In the end it didn’t matter. He’d been consumed by his struggle for power, and the more he amassed the more he longed for the heavens he would never reach.
Please, don’t make me look anymore, I prayed. I don’t want to feel sympathy for him. But I was caught in a foreign spiritual form and had no physical eyes to close. Water dripped from the icicle-shaped rocks of the ceiling, causing the shallow, aquamarine pools to ripple when it dropped
to the ground. A rustling sound emanated from the entrance of the cave. Onoskelis backed away from Forenus’ crumpled form and wiped the blood off her mouth with the back of her wrist. It did little to clean her since her entire body was caked in blood. Slowly she turned to face the origin of the sound. “You’re here,” she whispered. The man didn’t respond. Long black hair fell over his shoulders as he leaned against the cave wall. Everything about him was harsh and cold, from the steep angle of his cheekbones to his broad forehead that shadowed his glowing emerald eyes. Otherworldly green patterns appeared to dance on his skin. No, they were actually moving—and not with the rippling of his muscles as he walked forward but to their own rhythm, like water flowing down a stream. A ghost of a smile fell over Onoskelis’ lips and she shut her eyes, breathing softly. “It has been so long,” she said, to herself and to the darkness of the cave.
The man raised his left hand in a fist. A dragon moved on his forearm, curling around his arm until its head was on his hand, wrapping around his shoulders, dancing on his chest. “Where is she?” He asked. It was exactly the kind of voice I thought he’d have—deep, almost seductive, as beautiful and complex as his face, and as dark and deceptive as the patterns taking shape on his body. Some part of me seemed to tremble though I had no physical form. What part of me reacted to this scene, then? I wondered.
He reminds you of Cammy, a small voice answered.
No, impossible, I thought. There were superficial similarities, of course. Both were lovely. However, that didn’t explain it. Forneus was gorgeous, too, and looking at him just made my stomach turn. Besides, this person scared me. The angel was gentle. Even when he’d stolen my brother he did so with such a serene, unfeeling face that I’d been more
afraid of myself than him. I doubted the angel could ever scare me, but this being incited an instinctual—no, elemental—fear. He looked like he was about to destroy everything around him. Onoskelis wasn’t intimidated. “Your friend told me where you were hiding,” she said, and nodded toward my bundled, bloody body in the corner. Something flickered in the man’s face. “What is that beside my friend?” “You know,” Onoskelis said. “I smell sandalwood and juniper,” he whispered. “And sea salt gathered under the new moon,” Onoskelis finished. He turned his cheek and closed his eyes. It looked like he was crying—or preventing himself from doing so. It was difficult to tell in the azure light and the shadows. Everything in the cave seemed to shimmer from the water running into rocks and pools.
“Why did you do this?” He glared at her with eyes that glistened like wet seashells in the sun. “I think you know,” she whispered then, the first hint of regret tinged her voice. He stepped forward; his shadow fell over her stooped figure. She continued as if he hadn’t advanced. “To spare you from this moment,” she said, even more quietly. “To keep you here a little longer, even if it was only fifty years, or a hundred…” “Stop. Do you really think I wanted this?” He waved his arm once in the air, releasing a gust of wind. The cave shook for a second, then groaned as small rocks fell from the walls. “Are these moments as beautiful or sacred when we are alone?” He swallowed, grimaced, clenched his eyes shut. “When we can’t feel them, but must watch, as you and I did so many years ago?” “Perhaps not,” Onoskelis replied, “but I could not live on knowing that you would die. I couldn’t let the world live on. It is unbearable…” “Yet you condemned me to that fate.”
His chest began to heave. “I should have killed you once I realized your feelings for me. I shouldn’t have let you live—” “Perhaps you should have killed me then,” she interrupted and looked down. When the man closed his eyes Onoskelis brought her hand to her throat and traced a line from her collarbone to her heart. When he reopened his eyes the I Ching-like markings on his body began to move. A dragon slithered around up his bicep, curled around the nape of his neck and emerged on his other shoulder. Green light hung over his body and twisted around his throat. He inhaled the smoke deeply, laboriously. The tattooed dragon grew. The tail whipped around his stomach and legs and left a sea of emerald scales in the place of skin. They consumed him until the being that watched Onoskelis no longer donned the body of a man. There was nothing human in that face, and yet the human part of me could recognize something in it. Despair. Hatred. It
hurt me to look at it. It must have devastated Onoskelis, whom that hatred was directed towards, but she appeared unaffected. She hunched over, enclosing herself in red mist as well. She didn’t breathe in, though, but exhaled. Sheets of light spread over the cave like tiny spears, disappearing into the rocks. They creaked and rumbled, and then the walls of the cave began to move. Spiders crawled out of the cracks between the rocks—or perhaps they’d originally been the rocks themselves. Red lights dotted the cave—two ruby drops for eyes, and one on the abdomen. The dragon swiped his tale across the floor, squashing the spiders. But there were too many for the dragon to dismiss. They crawled over his tail, up his body and slipped between his green scales biting him. The dragon roared, causing dislodged rocks from the cave walls to collapse onto the ground, squishing spiders. But there were more. He breathed out fire and the top layer of spiders melted onto those directly beneath them, the blood red spots on their
abdomens sizzling through the rock like acid. Still there were more, endlessly emerging from the cave’s recesses, burrowing deeper and deeper into his skin. The dragon charged forward and with a bellow threw Onoskelis into the wall, claws through her stomach. She wrapped her human fingers around them as more red light emanated from her. It seemed to paralyze him. “Please stop,” she whispered. “I don’t want to poison you.” Pain flickered in his eyes. “I wish you would,” he begged, exposing his neck. “Poison me. Strip me of my sanity. I don’t want to feel or think again.” Silence. A slow, lifeless smile curled his lips. “I thought you’d react like that,” he muttered. “Next time you stab someone at least have the decency to twist the knife.” He reared back and smashed forward, breaking the red mist in two. Onoskelis stopped his assault by pressing against his
chest, but even her defense was halfhearted. She waved her arms before her body limply as he slashed them to red and pink slimy ribbons. The dragon leaned into her crossed arms, as if to press his leathery lips against her skin. She whimpered and opened her mouth when he opened his, tears and blood spilling down her chin. Slowly he exhaled and green flames emerged, devouring the red mist and then the top layer of her skin. She didn’t even flinch when she caught fire, overpowering the scent of sandalwood incense with singed flesh. “Is this what you wanted?” The dragon moaned as her face regenerated. “I would have given it to you if you’d just asked.” Onoskelis tried to shut her eyes, but couldn’t for they’d only partially grown back. “All I’ve longed for these long centuries were a few moments beside you, Azazel.” I’d known it was him the moment I saw him in the entrance of the cave. I knew the deep green pools of his eyes, and recognized the image of a dragon and a
ram on his skin. Yet I couldn’t allow myself to believe that this beautiful, distant creature was the same guy who’d bought me pancakes and greeted me with a crooked smile. Oz was charming and attractive, in a laid-back, soothing kind of way. It hurt to look at this stunning, tormented being. Though it made me loathe myself, I knew I would have looked away if I’d been capable of it. But Onoskelis didn’t look away and never would. She’d cherish anything he gave her, even if it was his hatred—even if it was her death. Azazel’s green flame danced in her red eyes, and she opened them wider, wider, waiting for it to devour her. “Azazel,” she said. This time her voice was weaker and hoarse, almost dissonant. As her legs gave out with a sickening snap she wrapped her arms around his claws and lay her cheek upon them. “Why did you do this?” He whispered, covering her in fire. She inhaled as if addicted to the heat from his breath. “I don’t want this world to survive without you,” she answered. “I don’t
want to see it stripped of its beauty—beauty I am only able to see and love because you still exist in it.” Green smoke rose like steam from his body. His shadow shrunk, and the hand that held her was no longer a claw but human. When it cleared I saw the same frightening and enthralling angelic face that looked like it had been carved from marble. “Onoskelis.” She shivered as her name left his lips. “Have you really left me with these empty eternities?” A pause, then a whispered: “Yes. I can leave this earth if I know that you are in it. I can still find it beautiful. I can still love it.” She rested her cheek upon his human hand. “I would say I’m sorry but I’m not. I can’t imagine this life any other way.” He bared his teeth and raised his hand. For a moment it remained poised in the air, as the green smoke returned and wove around it like ivy, transforming it into a claw. Onoskelis didn’t even try to dodge when he brought it down, cutting her in two.
She whimpered and reached out with a bloody, trembling hand. He let her touch his face. He didn’t wipe the smear of blood from his cheek when her arm fell. She continued to stare at him unflinchingly, and he returned her gaze until her eyelids closed. Then, in a single motion he cut her head from her body. “Burn,” he said once, and green flames consumed her remains.
Chapter 21 Forneus was still bleeding in the corner—or maybe he’d stopped. I kind of doubted he had any blood left in his body. It leaked from the wounds on his wrists like ultraviolet ink, and splashed onto Azazel’s white calves as he waded to him. The dragon had curled back onto the demon’s forearm, but his eyes still glowed with that otherworldly fire. He knelt down before Forneus. “I am tempted,” Azazel whispered as he stuck a finger into one of the holes on the devil’s throat, “to tear you apart before giving you the chance to speak.” Forneus’ jaw creaked like an unhinged door. “So you do want to speak, then?” Azazel asked. “What beautiful lies would you fill my head with, old friend?”Azazel stuck his fingers into the devil’s chest. Blood oozed from several old, festering wounds—I guess that meant Forneus hadn’t yet run dry. The
demon continued: “I wish this body of yours could feel more pain. My hatred is wasted on you. Perhaps I should return your voice so I can hear you whimper.” Forneus’ hand slipped when he grabbed Azazel’s wrist. There was too much blood and his grip was loose. “What’s this?” Azazel wiped his arm, smearing the devil’s blood on his palm. “Are you honestly trying to fight me, in this state? Or do you think I’ll take pity on you if you look pathetic? It won’t work.” Forneus flopped onto his side and tried to raise his hip so Azazel could see the pocket. “Stop!” The demon cried out as he pounded a fist into Forneus’ wiggling hips.
That’s right, Oz can’t see auras—or rather he choses not to, I remembered. Onoskelis’ plan was going to succeed. Azazel didn’t know about the stone yet, and at this rate he was going to incapacitate Forneus even more before he found out. The air seemed to quiver from my restlessness. I
have to do something, I have to tell him somehow. But I didn’t have a body so all I could do was watch. “You knew what she meant to me. Or maybe you didn’t, for the only thing you’re solely motivated by your desire for autonomy.” His claws dug deeper into Forneus’ chest with every syllable. “I wish I could hurt you in a way that could make you understand.” Forneus arched his back, trying to move his hips. Azazel hissed. ”Cruel, vile abomination. What do you want to tell me so badly?” The demon snatched the devil’s tongue and stuffed it into the back of his throat. Forneus coughed, but Azazel didn’t let him heave over—he’d wrapped one hand around the tortured being’s throat while the other covered his mouth. Forneus’ eyes rolled wildly and a low, agonizing sound ripped through the cave as a green light washed over his face. “What do you want to tell me?” The
demon whispered when he’d mended his neck and mouth. “Pocket,” Forneus whimpered. When Azazel didn’t move the devil’s bloody fist slipped inside his torn overcoat and retrieved the stone. He pressed it into the demon’s palm. Azazel glared at it. His lip trembled, then curled back as his fist enclosed the stone. “You wanted to show me a rock?” Forneus nodded, wincing. The seams of his face the demon had pasted together were still raw and scratched. Moving must’ve stung, and speech agonizing. Azazel’s grip on the rock tightened. His own blood dripped from the creases in his fist and streamed down his arm. He shut his eyes, raised his fist to his lips, then hurled it against the wall. It shattered on impact. “You didn’t recognize it.” Forneus wheezed, coughing more blood onto his stomach. “And here I thought it’d be impossible for you to forget a single moment.”
For a moment the demon looked unsure. “What are you babbling about?” His lips formed into a thin smile. “Still don’t remember?” Forenus’ eyelashes fluttered as if he were about to faint. “When we went to Purgatory to save her I stole the Rukha-HaYim. I told you it could prolong life.” Azazel went still—no, I didn’t recognize that breathing warm body and the one next to it. Whatever was left of me began to dissolve until all I knew was the dirt, the blue light, the coldness of the cave. Fear seized me, then loosened, then seized me again.
Why am I scared when everything is so beautiful? When I can be a part of that beauty? I felt boundless, endless—that wholeness I’d searched for all of my life consumed me. In fact I felt more whole right then than I had when I was with my brother. The betrayal of that I’d just thought stung for a moment, then dissipated. I had no brother, no future and no past. I was the azure light shinning from the top of the cave, the water running down the rock, the air that
shifted under the weight of someone’s hot breath. From far away I heard a voice: “Devi. Soul in stone, and you broke it.” I was surprised that I recognized those words—surprised to realize that I knew who spoke them. Forneus. Yes, that’s right. Forneus was bleeding on the floor. Onoskelis had taken me. And that dark, beautiful, trembling demon before me had tried to save me. That demon was Oz. The image of his lonely face flashed before me. Pain coursed through whatever was left of my soul as I ripped it from the light, soil and water. The elements were calling for me. I had to ignore them. I had to preserve myself so that that face would not be lonely. So that creature would not lose his reason as Onoskelis claimed she would have done. And because I wanted to feel Oz’s warm arms around me once more. “She’s slipping. You don’t have much time.” Blood bubbled out of Forneus’ throat
as he spoke. “You have to fix her body. You can’t put her back when it’s like that. And now that you shattered the rock she’ll soon be gone.” Azazel cried out, pushed himself away from his friend, and pulled my body into his arms, craddling it before setting it down once again on the floor. He pressed his hands to my lifeless chest and green light spilled over the arms, legs and face like mist. I watched, feeling more and more detached from that body he cared for each passing second. “Stay with me, Devi,” he rasped, desperate.
I’m trying, but it’s so hard. There was nothing for me to hold onto but a world in which identity did not exist. Disintegrate, the smell of wet rock carried by the breeze seemed to whisper. I wanted it to take me, just as the fly had wanted to be devoured by the candle’s flame that day I’d met Oz. Azazel ran to where the stone had shattered and collected a few of the biggest
shards. “Devi,” he rasped, breathless after rushing back to my side. “I know you’re still there. Come back. Come back to me.” He pressed the shards into my stomach.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. A heartbeat. It was mine, I realized as I felt blood rushing through my veins. An appendage twitched— a finger or toe, trying to banish the feeling of pins and needles. I inhaled sharply. The scent of salt, wet rock, blood, and even the lingering scent of sandalwood filled my lungs. I couldn’t see the world anymore, or the room. Only a complete, impenetrable darkness. “Open your eyes,” the familiar voice begged. I did. Slowly my vision focused on Oz’s form, not Azazel’s. “It’s you,” I whispered and brought my hand to his cheek. He leaned into it and his eyes relaxed but did not shut. The look in them was too intense, as if he had no intention of ever glancing away. “Devi.” His face crumpled. He shuddered as he exhaled. Still he did not
look away, not even when the tears ran down his cheeks and over his lips. It reminded me of how Onoskelis had looked at Azazel before he’d killed her. That’s right. They were the same being. That vengeful demon and this man—no, how could it be? My hands trembled at my sides, but Oz didn’t notice. I love you, I thought. And yet,
for a moment I didn’t want to see you when you were Azazel. I’d been afraid of you. That meant there was some part of him I couldn’t accept, didn’t it? It meant I couldn’t match his strength—that I would forsake him… I swallowed, trying to force down the ball growing in my throat. I couldn’t admit these things aloud. I didn’t even want to think them. So instead I looked around the room. The first thing I saw was Forneus’ broken form in the corner. He didn’t look too good. The rise and fall of his chest seemed like a trick of light and shadow. “Um, is Forneus going to be okay?” I asked absently.
Silence.
Oh God. Wrong thing to say. Oz probably hated Forneus at this point even more than usual. He’d hate to hear me worrying about that devil instead of thanking him or saying something lovey-dovey. I had to come up with a reasonable explanation for why I’d been thinking about Forneus that didn’t involve me talking about how scary he’d been in his demon form. I bit my lip. “It’s just that he saved me…” The moment the words left my mouth I sucked in a breath as if I could somehow pull them back into my mouth. Did I have a death wi sh? Maybe, a small voice answered, reminding me of how I’d almost succumbed to my desire to dissolve into the cave. I ignored it. It was probably best that I didn’t bring that up, either. I shut my eyes, afraid to see Oz’s face. As it turned out I had every right to be afraid. “Don’t worry about him,” Oz demanded quietly. A shiver rushed through me, stirring every hair on my body.
“Uh, it’s just—I don’t know—” I babbled, unable to look at Oz’s face, or at the Forneus’ lump of rotting flesh in the corner. I actually did want to help that devil, I realized. Forneus risked his life—or maybe not his life, but at least his body—to save me. That meant something, even if he’d done it for personal gain. My left hand skid against the cave’s floor. I glanced down at my raw palm, saw grains of dirt and small rock embedded in the skin. “I just don’t like seeing him like that.” I winced. Talking hurt more than breathing. Every time I inhaled it felt like my ribcage was cracking, but I shut my eyes and continued. “Even if he does deserve it, I don’t want to see him like that.” Oz’s grip on my right hand tightened. “You ask terrible things of me, and you don’t even realize it. I don’t know if that should comfort me or not.” I looked up at him. His eyes were large and glassy, and his cheeks were stained with mud. I wanted to reach up and cup his face with my dirty, bloody hand, but I couldn’t
raise it above my chest. Oz’s eyes narrowed. I wondered if he noticed my pathetic attempt to comfort him. “Fine,” he murmured. “Just remember that Forneus can’t return to Hell without you. He is never your friend.” “Why do you stay near him, then? Why do you trust him, and depend on him?” My heart hammered in my chest, and each beat felt like a sucker-punch to my sore ribs. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t believe I’d just blurted that out. My rudeness probably had something to do with the fact that I’d just been reconnected to my recently dead body, or at least I hoped that was the reason. Oz turned his gaze to the mouth of the cave and peered into its depths, untouched by even the ethereal blue light. “You shouldn’t be near me when I heal him,” he said. “Let me take you outside.” *** The sinking sun cast golden light across the sea and sand. I shut my eyes, trying to
feel its subtle heat on my skin, but the sun was too distant. The warmth that spread across me was from Oz’s plaid, flannel shirt pulled up around my shoulders, and the only other sensation I could feel was the salt air whipping at my face. Oregon beaches weren’t filled with scenes of beach babes in bikinis except, perhaps, on the clearest, hottest days of summer. They were rocky, cold and wet, especially in fall. Seaweed had been carried by the incoming tide and abandoned on the sand. The gnarled green piles resembled the carrion of small seals or sharks. That was another difference between these beaches and the picturesque popular image—they were often contained carcasses and flies, and hovering birds. Oz had propped me up against a large piece of driftwood next to the cave’s entrance before returning for Forneus. After he disappeared I’d found a white feather buried in the sand, then picked it up and drew spirals with it on my palm. My body was still anxious from hearing the tone of his
voice when he’d asked me not to move. It’d been an unnecessary request, anyway. My legs were too sore to stand on. I closed my fist around the feather and shut my eyes. Something shuffled against the stone behind me—footsteps, perhaps— then nothing. I glanced over my shoulder to see Oz leaning against the mouth of the cave. He squinted his eyes as the wind blew his hair back from his face. It was a handsome face and I knew I’d never tire of looking at it. But it wasn’t a beautiful face, or at least it wasn’t that startlingly, breathtakingly, otherworldly face—his true face I now knew he covered up with this one. “Hey. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” I shook my head. He shuffled his feet as he walked toward me. His hands and clothes were unstained. I’d expected them to be bloody after tending to Forneus, but I guess he’d cleaned himself somehow. Well, either that
or he hadn’t actually done anything for his “friend.” “How is Forneus?” I asked. Oz plopped down beside me. “He’ll live.” So Oz hadn’t completely healed him. I supposed that wasn’t surprising, though it didn’t exactly comfort me. I shivered as I leaned back into the smooth yet unforgiving ripples of the weathered driftwood. Oz’s hand slid over mine and he set his head down beside my shoulder. I felt his breath on my neck. “I told you he’d live,” he whispered. I turned my head to look at him. Dusk had softened the angles of his face, making him seem very young and small. “Yeah, but that isn’t saying much considering he can’t die,” I replied. Oz grinned. I slammed my hand into his chest. “That wasn’t supposed to be funny!” He rubbed the spot I’d hit and tried to pout, but was laughing too hard to be
convincing. “I know, I know. It’s so true, though.” Images of entrails strung up from that cramped cave’s ceiling like the strings of a puppet flooded my mind. I bit my lip to keep myself from shrieking. “So, what? Did you, uh, leave him in two parts instead of six?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice light.
Call my bluff. Reassure me that he’s in one piece, I prayed. Oz’s lips twisted into a humorless, demonic smile. “If he wanted help he shouldn’t have erected that damn barrier to hide this location from me.” I couldn’t respond. I’d never imagined that healing someone could be so frightening. Oz’s eyes narrowed and he continued evenly, oblivious to my horror. “And if he’d desired kinder treatment he shouldn’t have barred angels from passing through the barrier.” That’s right, the angel hadn’t come. Even now it was mysteriously absent, though that didn’t bother me. Once Azazel had
stepped into the cave I’d forgotten about the angel completely—well, almost. Now that I wasn’t in danger I didn’t want to see the angel or think about him. Perhaps such sentiments were petty or cruel, but it was how I felt. Oz squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” He inhaled sharply once, then lapsed into a silence more significant than anything he could have said. I wanted to give it more meaning, return it with something equally significant, but all I had was my own silence. “The view is pretty from here, isn’t it?” I asked finally, trying to change the subject. His breath caught in his throat. “Yes.” I felt my cheeks grow hot. He was looking at me, not at the ocean or setting sun. “You’re being corny again, aren’t you?” I asked softly. He was smiling. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. “I think I already told you, it’s because of my sweet, savage senti—” I turned onto my side and put my index
finger over his mouth. “Don’t say it.” “Why?” His mouth tickled the pad of my finger as he spoke. “Will this romantic moment be ruined if one of us starts laughing?” “I don’t know about that, but me muttering curses while I stomp off into the grass would probably kill it.” His grin deepened, and his eyes took on a youthful but dim glow. “You sure? That sounds pretty cute.” I sighed. “It’s just—I really wasn’t going to buy that book, you know.” “Devi, I’ve been in your room. I’ve seen your bookshelf. I don’t know why you think that particular book is so bad.” “Well…” I couldn’t finish. Now wasn’t the time to justify my tastes. Come to think of it, there would never be a time. There was no way I could live through a page-by-page reading comparison for him. He was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted, and sand cascaded over our
entwined hands. “Why does it bother you when I say you’re beautiful?” Instinctively my lungs constricted.
Because you’re praising my soul, not me— you only care about me because you think I possess something I don’t actually have. I ran my tongue between my lips. It made the air feel cooler, and I couldn’t bring myself to say it. There wasn’t any reason for me to bring it up now, anyways. He’d just tell me I was wrong and couldn’t see myself the way he did. Those words only made me feel like a thief or charlatan who could only keep him by my side through deception. I looked down at our buried hands. The sand that covered them was so cold—even colder than the evening air. When had I become so selfserving? Or had I always been this cruel? I wanted to have him even if it was a lie and, if Onoskelis’ words were to be trusted, that meant I might kill him someday. Oz noticed me tense up. “Are you afraid of me now that you’ve seen what I really look like?”
He sounded like a child—much too desperate and obvious for his search for approval. My toes curled. “A little bit,” I admitted though I didn’t want to. He went still and I put my head on his shoulder. His shirt was soft and smelled like it had just been pulled from the dryer. I continued slowly: “A part of me liked it too, though. I don’t understand why you hide yourself. You are so beauti—” “Stop,” he interrupted without harshness. Still, the words cut through me nonetheless. “I don’t want to be that creature and I never wanted you to see me like that.” He swallowed, looked down. “I hate that part of myself.” There was a tightness in my throat and a bleariness in my vision that had little to do with the dim, last rays of the sun and the strength of the wind. Yes he scared me, but he also possessed a dedication and kindness I could never imitate. If it had been me writhing before him and transforming into a horrific creature he would not have looked away. Such a thought wouldn’t have even
occurred to him. I traced the outline of his crooked nose with my eyes. Every part of him was beautiful, even if it was at times a terrifying beauty, because he was so honest with himself. I swallowed and my grip on his hand tightened. “How could you hate any part of yourself?” Oz sat up and watched the birds trying to outrun the incoming tide. “Maybe because it was chosen for me,” he finally said. “This is not something I would have chosen.” I didn’t ask what he would’ve chosen. I already knew. He wanted to be a human or some other animal—to wander into a forest as deep and green as his eyes and live beneath the trees until heaven and hell were nothing more than a dream he could no longer recollect. My eyes began to sting. It was irredeemably unfair that such a simple desire should not be out of reach. I wet my lips and my throat went dry. “Do you love me?” He didn’t answer right away. “You’ve
asked me that before,” he said, a faint smile painted over his lips. “How can you?” I pressed on. “I’ve known you for less than a week.” He turned away from the surf and brought his hand to my cheek. “It feels like only yesterday.” I swatted his hand away and tried to harden my voice. “That’s because it basically was yesterday.” “So maybe most people would think I’m a bit hasty.” “No, stupid. Onoskelis said something to me. She said that…” I couldn’t continue. To even think of it was too cruel. I could accept my own damnation, especially since I’d always known there was something wrong with me. Now, after experiencing death I could even face that without fear. To disappear and dissolve into the millions of things around me wasn’t such a bad fate for one such as myself, but I didn’t want that for him. “What did she tell you?” His voice
resembled the demon’s voice, not Oz’s. It was quiet yet forceful, with an accent I couldn’t quite place. It took me a moment for my mind to remember he was the same person as Azazel. I shook my head. “Tell me, please,” he repeated. His voice had hypnotic power—or maybe it just scared me. Either way, I responded without thinking. “She said that demons died horribly at the hands of the one they love.” The words hung in the air between us. I stiffened next to him, waiting for him to say I was wrong. He did not.
Does that mean…? I looked up at him. “Oz, is it true?” I whispered, and my resolve crumbled. The world around me seemed to crumble, too. Even his face, which I tried to focus on so intently, seemed like a mirage. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. I reared back as if he’d slapped me. “What? Your response is to not worry about
it? How could I possibly not? When were you planning to tell me this?” He hunched over and looked at the sun setting, and in doing that he gave me my answer—never. “You really weren’t going to tell me,” I realized aloud, hyperventilating. “What would telling you accomplish?” He said quietly. “It is my curse.” The wind started to howl, or maybe it was just the ringing in my ears. I gripped my hands into fists. “You’re wrong. Something like that is my curse, too. Do you know what it would do to me if I ever hurt—” I doubled over, unable to finish. My stomach muscles spasmed, trying to suppress the sobs that threatened to tear through me. Oz put his hand on my shoulder, murmuring something I couldn’t hear that was probably meant to be reassuring. I tore at the hair at my temples. Oh God, it was true. “I couldn’t live with myself. I don’t want to hurt anybody,” I whispered. “I know,” Oz said. At least he had the
decency to cringe. “How can you keep talking about me hating you or fearing you when you think I’m going to kill you someday?” I continued bitterly. He placed his hand over fist. Slowly, he turned it so that the underside of my wrist was exposed. Then he slipped his fingers beneath mine and pried them open. My breath caught in my throat. I still held the feather, and for some reason that realization seemed meaningful as did the fact that I’d forgotten about it. Oz picked it up and held it in front of him with his index finger and thumb. It was crushed, misshapen, and looked more gray than white. Without ceremony he released it in the wind, and the feather tumbled behind us. “I dared to love something more than God,” he said. “I knew I’d be condemned for it. God wants to possess all the love in your heart so that He can be the only thing that wounds you. Then He abandons you in the desert and demands that you accept water only from Him so that He will also be your
only salvation. But I found something that moved me more than His Paradise, so it’s only fitting that it would hurt me more than His punishments, too.” He shut his eyes and something dripped down his cheeks, shimmering. I pressed my face to it and tasted salt. “It was the first choice I’d ever made. It was my most precious choice. I would chose it again and again, even if the thing I’ve dedicated my life to will also end it.” He pulled away to me so that we were face to face, then pressed his forehead into mine. Slowly, he placed his palm over the center of my chest. “I give you my heart, Devi. If I am to die, let it be by your hand.”
Chapter 22 I flew backwards, slamming my elbow into the driftwood. My mind barely registered the sting. “You can’t be serious. That is so messed up.” He smiled a little to himself and ran his fingers over his cheek as if I’d slapped him. “It could be worse.” “How?” I shrieked. “I could be the one cursed to kill you.” My eyes hurt from being opened so wide. “That really doesn’t make me feel better.” “Well, it makes me feel better,” he said with that satisfied grin of his. I leaned toward him and grit my teeth. How could he joke about this? I wasn’t even worth it. “You realize that I’m going to get old and ugly, don’t you?” “You’ll never be ugly.” I almost laughed at that, but the sincerity
of his tone stopped me. “Neither will you,” I whispered, and let my head fall into his shoulder. “You’ll never change at all.” He wrapped his arm around me. “That isn’t entirely true. I can age with you.” I tilted up my my face up to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?” “I mean that I’ll just make Oz look older. You know, get wrinkles, go bald, grow a pot belly.”
Grow a pot belly? A picture of one of those trolls I used to collect with the bejeweled belly buttons flashed in my head. “Are you actually suggesting that though you can look like anything you want you’re going to make yourself look like Pog?” He grinned. “Something like that.” I had to look away for a second. I focused on my fingers and how the sand fell over them, carried by the wind. “This is too much.” He chuckled, soft and low. “Alright, alright. I won’t turn into Pog. Maybe a
George Clooney or something—he’s popular with the ladies, right?” “That’s not what I mean.” He cupped my face and wiped his rough thumbs over my cheeks. I didn’t know if I was crying, or if my eyes were just tearing up from the wind and salt. “I don’t want you to ever feel alone,” he whispered. “And what about when I die?” His hands flinched once, desperately, and he said: “I don’t want you to ever have to be alone.” I felt like those words were more for himself than for me—that they reflected the fears and sorrows he’d faced in the centuries he’d endured alone. “What are you saying, exactly?” I asked. He didn’t answer and I couldn’t continue. Every cell in my body shattered like a glass mirror, and I didn’t want to pick them back up because I didn’t want to see a million partial reflections of the person that would murder the one I cared for so much.
I leaned back and watched the sky darken. The sun was no longer visible on the horizon, but light still hit the clouds and the sea. The moon was out, bright and full. It looked surreal against the pink sky, as if Magritte had painted it and the real one remained hidden behind. Oz lay down beside me and held me. The places he touched were warm—the warmest parts of my body. I didn’t want to imagine a world without those hands. “I’m so stupid,” I admitted in such a soft voice that it was lost in the tossing of waves and squawking of seagulls in the distance. Still, somehow, he heard it. “Why would you think that?” “Oh, you know. All this talk about how you shouldn’t love me because you don’t know me enough, and because you and everyone else you know seems to think you’ll die if you stay around me. I keep telling you how silly you’re being, how I don’t want it, and yet I can’t leave.” He moved closer. “Why do you think that is?”
I glared at him. “You know why exactly. You just want me to say it.” He placed his hand on my stomach. “You’re right. I want you to say it very badly.” My stomach flexed under his ghostly touch. “I’m scared,” I whispered. “Because you don’t think you should feel the way you do about me?” I shot up. “It should be impossible. I barely know you.” I bit my lip and cringed. That had sounded much worse than I’d intended. He leaned over and pressed his lips into my hair. “I know. You can’t rationalize these things, or stop them.” “How do you know?” The air seemed too quiet. Oz crossed his hands behind his head, causing the driftwood to rock in the sand. “Well, you might be able to. It’s never worked for me, though.” I grimaced. I couldn’t stand listening to
the sadness in his voice that he tried so hard to conceal. “It doesn’t seem like you think love is a choice,” I began slowly. “How is following the whims of your heart any different than following the will of God, then? Why don’t you hate me as well for taking your ability to choose away from you? Especially since I’m going to—” He grabbed my forearm. “Don’t think that.”
How can I not? I closed my eyes and blocked out the pale blue light. “Do you remember the poem I read to you that day?” He continued in a low voice. I felt my lips curve into a smile. “You mean like two days ago?” “Yeah,” he laughed. “Do you remember what it was about?” I snuggled up next to him. “A man following a woman into the woods,” I murmured. He nodded. “That’s the one. Following her wasn’t a conscious choice on his part. It
isn’t one on mine either, but…I want to lose myself in something, and not because of a conscious choice on my part, but because it naturally expressed the characteristics I loved. I didn’t think I’d find it until I found you.” He brought me closer but didn’t kiss me. “I was serious when I said I’d do anything for you, Devi. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I don’t want to know a world without you.” I shuddered. These words were too close to the explanation Onoskelis had given Azazel for attempting to butcher me—she, too, had done it because she didn’t want the world to be without him, even if it meant her death. Was it possible for a demon to grow to hate the world as much as he loved it? If those feelings somehow reversed, what would that creature do? “You’re shivering.” He noted, interrupting my meandering thoughts. I opened my eyes. The last light on the horizon was just barely able to cast an indigo outline around the silhouettes of our
feet. It was a different blue than the aquamarine that had illuminated Onoskelis’ cave—softer, more natural-looking, less beautiful. I let him lay with his head on my chest until the tips of waves were silver with moonlight. “We should go back,” I whispered. He stood. I heard a rustle of fabric as he brushed the sand off his jeans. “I know. I shouldn’t have let myself linger.” I frowned. “Why?” He grabbed my wrist as I got up. His grip wasn’t pleasant. It felt more like he was trying to prevent me from running. My heartbeat escalated. “What’s going on?” “Don’t freak out,” he whispered.
Yeah, like that was going to happen . My eyes were open so wide the back of my skull was beginning to hurt. “There’s someone who needs to see you,” he continued.
No. I wasn’t sure if I’d spoken it aloud, but my lips were parted his eyes didn’t quite meet mine—a sure-tell sign of guilt. He wedged his feet into the sand. “I know you don’t like him and I don’t blame you. But after tonight I hope you understand why it might be necessary to let him stay beside you.” “No.” Splotches of black closed in on my line of vision like spilled pepper. “Tell me you’re joking.” He sighed and let me go. “We called him out. It can’t be helped at this point.” I stared at my shoes. That’s right, I’d been the one to call him out. I’d wanted this more than anything because I’d thought it would bring me closer to my brother. Maybe I’d gotten closer than I could handle… I squeezed my eyes shut. No, I couldn’t think like that. If hanging out with my brother’s captor was the price I’d have to pay I could endure it. I’d do anything to find him. I swallowed. “Where is it?”
Oz wisely didn’t comment on me referring to the angel as it. “In the trunk of the car.” I spun on my heel. “What?” He exhaled deeply. “It hurts him to be apart from you. Even looking at or smelling things is painful for him, so I had to stick him in a place with as little sensory data as possible. He can’t walk now, let alone move…” My rage faltered. “Oh,” I said. “It didn’t seem to hurt him that bad when “ Oz stopped. “You’ve been gone for two days.” I grabbed my “Wait, two days? How is that possible? What about my mom?” “You’ll see her when you get home. We should think of something to tell her on the drive.” I stared at him. I’d never gone anywhere without telling my mom. I pretty much never went anywhere period. She wasn’t going to understand why I’d just taken off, and I
couldn’t possibly tell her I’d been abducted, let alone by a demon… “Don’t frown like that. It will be fine. Come on, I’ll carry you.” Without warning he wrapped his arms around me, muffling my protests, and picked me up. “Jesus!” I yelped. “Don’t drop me!” “I won’t drop you,” he chuckled as he ran up the first dune. “But I’m too heavy! You’re going to fall over! And we’re both going to—oh God, stop running!” He took a couple of laborious breaths. “It’s alright. I’ll take a long rest when we reach the next dune.” I frowned to keep myself from laughing. Him pretending to be tired as he effortlessly flew up the dune was just too much. “You’re not supposed to make me feel heavy, you know.” He grinned. “I don’t understand. You were concerned about my ability to carry you —”
“I’m not going to let you stop now,” I interrupted. I could feel his lips smile on my cheek. “Fine, but don’t complain if I collapse on you.” I tightened my arms around his neck. “I might not mind. You don’t have to try to get to the car so quickly, you know,” I said, pressing my fingers into his jaw. “I’m afraid to have that thing near me.” Oz didn’t respond right away. “You shouldn’t be. He was made to fight demons and devils.” My toes wiggled. His intense tone made that statement sound like a threat. “Is he any good at it?” He glanced down at me grimly. “If Camael had been there Onoskelis wouldn’t have been able to take you.” I didn’t respond. It was a stupid question since he’d already told me the Powers were supposed to guard heaven from devils, demons, and anything else that dared to venture past beyond the boundary
of earth. Camael must have watched earth for countless years, tracking down those who threatened heaven and then disposing of them. But unlike Oz he’d never dreamed of leaving. He’d never been enchanted with the world before or after its fall. We were silent the rest of the way. When he reached the top of the last dune I spotted a maroon sports car parked sideways in the middle of the sidewalk, or at least the tail end of it was. The nose had been driven through the back of the local mini league soccer goal. Luckily there wouldn’t be any damage, except maybe to the net. “That’s a little flashier than your normal ride,” I said. “It’s Forneus’,” he answered as he opened the trunk. The angel huddled beneath three layers of wool blankets. Floral black bruises bloomed over his sallow skin, and his limbs twisted in impossible angles as if they’d been dislocated. He parted his lips. They were pale and cracked, as if he’d collapsed
in the desert without water, and bloody, as if they’d been rubbed with sandpaper. Only his impossibly blue eyes were recognizable. “Told you it wasn’t pretty,” Oz muttered.
Yeah, but you could have mentioned he looked as pathetic and innocent as a lost child. I gripped my stomach and turned away. “I think you should get Forneus.” Oz rested his elbow on the propped-up lid of the trunk. “No. He can get his own ride home.” I grit my teeth. I didn’t have the patience for his pettiness. “I’m serious. If Forneus is even half as bad as that thing is, I don’t think we can leave him there.” Oz shifted from foot to foot. “I told you I healed him.” I raised a brow. “Then why hasn’t he walked out of the cave?” He looked down and kicked a rock. “Fine, but he’s riding in the trunk.” I saw no issue with that arrangement.
I glanced at the angel. My knees gave out, and I grasped the fender for support. His skin was returning to its normal cream color —the ugly old and new bruises faded like stains on a white sheet that was placed in water. Of course. I shouldn’t have let his appearance effect me so. He was and always would be fine. “Devi?” He lifted his shaking arm and then retracted it quickly, as if afraid I would disappear. Or, more likely, afraid I would recoil from him again and make him leave. I bit my lip and curled my hand into a fist. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought he was crying. If I couldn’t have seen his unmoving face I would have sworn he was even though I knew such a thing wasn’t possible. But there were tears in his voice, or at least it sounded like it. Perhaps because my throat was closing, and my eyes were bleary and wet. “Don’t cry,” the angel whispered. “I won’t leave you again. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
No. I don’t want you. Leave me, even if
I get hurt. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Sorrow and tenderness tinged the angel’s voice, and I couldn’t help myself from being moved. I shut my eyes, refusing to let it seep into the heart I’d sworn was dead and unfeeling when it came to him. “I’m not crying,” I said. I didn’t want his vows or reassurances, just his silence. Then I made the mistake of looking at him. My heart lurched in my chest. Why should skin that would never offer comfort from a touch be so smooth? Or lips that would never speak honestly of love be so alluring? His sky-blue eyes narrowed. “Are you really alright?” When I didn’t say anything more the angel touched my cheek. I flinched upon contact—no, before it—at the moment I should have felt the air move over my skin. I could hear the ocean waves soft roar in the distance. I could smell dirt and the warm, damp scent of salty, clean air. But those fingers didn’t impact our surroundings, and
they felt like a ghost’s when they brushed against me. A shiver crept up my spine. My blood tingled. These were a phantom’s hands— those of a man who had never really lived or died—and yet some part of my heart responded to them. I wanted them to be warmer than they were—to reflect the emotions I had foolishly read into that voice.
Cammy, I wanted to say, I wish I’d never felt anything for you. By refusing to show yourself you lied to me. I thought you were more. I wanted you to be… “Devi,” the angel whispered. I swallowed and the muscles in my chest tightened. This wasn’t Cammy, because Cammy had never existed. I couldn’t keep thinking like that, and I shouldn’t be this disoriented simply because I’d been touched by an angel. Oh God, I actually used the phrase “touched by an angel.” Though my experience with heaven couldn’t have resembled a Hallmark card less, the fact that
such words had even entered my brain made me want to vomit. I pushed his hand away. “I’m fine. Really.” Though I didn’t look at the angel again I could tell he didn’t believe me. That was okay, though. He didn’t need to believe me and it didn’t even necessarily need to be true. As long as I repeated the words I’m fine until I believed them myself I’d be okay. Footsteps crunched on the grass. I turned to see Oz racing towards us. He’d wrapped Forneus’ body in that bloody sheet Forneus had flung over my carcass, then tossed the bundle over his shoulder. It wasn’t exactly the most delicate method of transport. I could see the devil’s purple head whacking against Oz’s thigh as he ran. “It really doesn’t look like you healed him,” I commented as Oz dumped the body in the trunk. The devil’s broken, purple fingers peeked out from the edge of the sheet. Forneus groaned as he tried to raise them for some reason, but he was too weak.
“He’s in better shape than he was before,” Oz responded as he slammed the trunk. “I can’t believe I’m giving him a ride.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. The four of us were together at last—me, the angel, the devil, and my demon. I felt like the moment should have seemed more momentous, or at least more pleasant, like we should have made jokes as we meandered down to the beach, collected driftwood for a fire, and leisurely toasted marshmellows. Instead I was struggling to keep my eyes open, the angel was looking at the ground, Oz was glaring at the trunk, and for some reason I just knew that Forenus, locked down and wrapped in a sheet, was glaring right back. Oz jingled the keys. “Let’s go,” he muttered and hopped in the front seat. I sighed and took shotgun, bringing a suitably anticlimactic end to our historic meeting. The angel crawled into the seat behind me. He shut the door softly, as if a swift and careless motion would wound it. My seat
shook as he leaned his forehead against the back of it. I heard a low exhale as he ran his fingers up to where my shoulders rested. I jumped forward and whipped my head around. “What are you doing?” He lifted his head and stared at me. I couldn’t tell if he felt guilty—no, actually I knew he didn’t because he was incapable of it—but his eyes were so big and wide “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he folded his hands in his lap, ducked, and leaned forward, resting his head on the back of my seat again. I swallowed as I sank into my seat. So he’d just thought I didn’t wanted him to touch me, not that I found it strange he wanted to stick his head next to me and breathe heavily. God, what had I gotten myself into? All this sniffing at inappropriate times and places reminded me of an annoying puppy, except the angel didn’t possess any of a puppy’s cute qualities. The fact that he probably wouldn’t have objected if I asked him to act like a dog made me want to cry.
I glared at Oz as he turned the key in the ignition. Why wasn’t the guy who just said he loved me doing anything about the angel’s weird behavior? Then again maybe it wasn’t so strange. Neither one of them was normal. “Have you thought of what to tell your mom?” Oz’s words felt like a slap across the face. “No,” I admitted. I’d been so irritated with the angel that I’d forgotten about the situation I was in. “Let me know when you do,” he replied. I nodded and let my head fall against the cold window. He didn’t say anything more so I watched the suburban beach landscape turn into forest in silence. I had no idea what I was going to tell my mom or Kim, and I didn’t want to think about their tears or the lies I’d have to tell.
Epilogue I woke up a few hours later. A quick look in the rear view mirror showed me that the angel still rested his forehead on the back of my seat. I didn’t want to think about how long he’d been like that, so I turned my attention to Oz. Immediately I regretted my decision. His bloodshot eyes twitched as they watched the road, and his grip on the steering wheel made his knuckles so white that I was surprised it hadn’t snapped off. “You look tired,” I finally said. “You have no idea.” Oz had an instant coffee in the cup holder from some fast food joint we’d passed. It must have been quite a while ago since I couldn’t see anything but trees. I decided not to comment on his choice of beverage. “Do you want me to take the wheel?” I asked. He raised a brow. “Can you drive stick?”
“Um, I could learn,” I said. He sighed wearily and I snuggled into my seat, yawning. It felt bad to show evidence of my own fatigue in front of him since he looked a lot worse than I did. Oz had spent so much time searching for me, and he really loved his sleep. “Maybe we should let the angel drive and you and I can sleep in the back,” I suggested. Oz shook his head. “The angel has never driven before. Besides, it’s shameful for heavenly creatures to use something invented by man. Right?” The angel didn’t respond. Oz continued as if he hadn’t expected one: “Also, anyone who passes us on the road would see a car driving down the street with no driver.” “What do you mean they can’t see him? He’s right there!” Oz gave me a sly smile. “Nope. Humans can’t see him unless he reveals himself, and he won’t reveal himself unless he needs to because doing so will make it
more difficult to protect you.” “You mean follow me around,” I muttered under my breath. Oz flashed me a grin. “That too.” I shuddered. For all intents and purposes Cammy was now my imaginary friend, since no one could see him except my boyfriend and the satanic chauvinist who tried to kill me. “You seem to be pretty nonchalant about the fact that I’m going to start spending so much time with another guy.” He laughed. “This is the one guy I don’t mind you spending time with.” “You were once an angel too,” I reminded him sharply. Oz sucked in a breath. “Not like Camael.” I groaned and let my head fall back. I didn’t bother asking what he meant by that cryptic statement. I was too tired to keep up with him. The angel wisely kept out of this argument. Or maybe it wasn’t even a
conscious effort on his part. He seemed incapable of getting involved with things. I yawned again. “Well, if you’re half as tired as I am you should make Forneus drive.” Oz’s eyes narrowed lethally. “He’s staying in the trunk.” I sat up, suddenly alert. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I hadn’t expected that much animosity. On the good side, it at least meant Forneus was still in the car and hadn’t been abandoned in some ditch off the side of the road. In the end Oz just kept driving in silence, and I kept thinking that there wasn’t enough road between where we were and our destination. There could never be enough road. I didn’t want to face whatever was ahead, or even the being sitting beside me. It wasn’t every day that you discovered you were destined to kill your boyfriend. *** The End
“FALLEN ANGELS, BOOK 2’ COMING SOON! Visit http://katherinepine.com for more information ***
Dedication, About the Author, Cover and Copywrite Information, Author’s Note Dedication For my beautiful, smart, wonderful sister, (aka Oz’s #1 superfan) who tirelessly cheered me on. For my mother, my first (and best) editor. ***
About the Author Katherine Pine is addicted to shoujo manga and black tea. Though she’s only in her mid-twenties, she lives in a retirement community in the Pacific Northwest. Alright, so maybe it isn’t officially a retirement community, but the age of the average person is about 62. As a result, Katherine has grown accustomed to epic, all-night bingo battles and losing terribly at Bridge. (She’s convinced that those “sweet” old ladies cheat.) When she’s not getting skooled by grandmas she knits, tries to convince slugs that her compost pile is much
tastier than her vegetable garden, and gets bossed around by her cats. After Eden is her first published novel. She loves hearing from readers! Email her at katherinepineauthor(at)gmail.com or visit her at http://katherinepine.com. ***
Cover Credit I would like to take a moment to thank C. Arthur Hart for creating such a wonderful cover! He can be reached at carthurhart(at)gmail.com, or followed on Twitter (at)boshyboo. All of the fonts used on the cover were found on the site Font Squirrel (http://www.fontsquirrel.com/) which lists beautiful fonts that are free for commercial use. The font for “After Eden” is called Porcelain can be downloaded from the graphic designer’s website: http://www.misprintedtype.com. The font for “Katherine Pine” and “Fallen Angels, Book 1” is called Water Street and can be downloaded from: http://www.fontsquirrel.com/fonts/WaterStreet. The font for the dingbats on the cover
is called Floralia and can be downloaded from: http://www.fontsquirrel.com/license/Floralia. The cover is Copywrite Katherine Pine 2011, all rights reserved. ***
Copywrite Information This book is copywrite Katherine Pine 2011, all rights reserved. Please do not illegally copy or distribute. ***
Author’s Note This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental unless explicitly noted. Since this book takes place in present, some current artists, works of art, products, businesses, trademarks, and places are referenced to make the book “come alive.” However, no association between the author and any artist, work of
art, business, place, product or trademark holder is expressed or implied. Use of a term, or work, or artist in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any artist, work of art, business, place, product, trademark, registered trademark, or service mark. The artists, products, businesses, and places, trademarks, registered marks, or service marks referenced in this book do not endorse this book unless otherwise specified.
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Table of Contents
pilogue edication, About the Author, Cover and Copywrite Information, Author’s Note
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Table of Contents
pilogue edication, About the Author, Cover and Copywrite Information, Author’s Note
